


The Brit Luck

by suikalopolis



Series: Well it's sort of like Love, actually [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Friendship, Gen, Humour, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-27 22:18:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suikalopolis/pseuds/suikalopolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an attempt to change his destiny as an unwilling bachelor in London, Arthur Kirkland has realised that there is a list of things he must fulfil. One, cut down alcohol units and cigarettes. Two, find a nice girl to seriously settle down with. And three, stop being the centre of attention of two (foreign) men. However like many things in his life, it all gets out of hand.  Arthur-centric.  Multiple pairings, FRUK, eventual USUK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have posted this story on my ff.net account for a while and I had always wondered on whether or not I should put it up here as well. It took me a long time to decide on opening up an account here and now that I have, well. Why not.
> 
> If the summary sounds uncannily familiar, yes this story is based on Bridget Jones's Diary. But! It is NOT a carbon copy. The timeline may coincide with the succession of events in the movie (I have used it as a guiding star of sorts), but I have done a little tweaking here and there to make it a slightly more original piece. Hopefully.
> 
> Also, apologies for inaccuracies in use of foreign language throughout the fic. I really tried researching.

Another year has passed. Or rather it was drawing to a close all too quickly for a certain thirty-one year old Arthur Kirkland's liking. Essentially jaded and (what seemed to be) unfairly destined to be single since the beginning of time, he was not looking forward to attending this Christmas reunion party at all. Why, it had been less than a decade since he had last seen any of his university friends and it was likely that most of them had probably settled down with plans to bring up a nice family, reaching the prime of their lives or something along those lines.

Arthur frowned at how his chest ached at the thought and the drop of dread seemed to swell in the pit of his stomach with each passing moment. He could already imagine the looks on their faces when they all hear that 'wild boy' Arthur Kirkland had unwittingly deviated from his former ambitious self and was now playing out the lifestyle of the so-called minimalist – no goals, just living for the sake of existing. That and he was alone too. It was depressing to think back and realise how pathetically short-lived most, if not all, his past relationships were – the last one ending a few days ago with a life-span of a meagre two months. Arthur shook his head at the memories of Lauren. Tall and blonde, she was a stunning girl, fantastic in bed but was all too domineering and unrefined. _She wouldn't make a good wife._ No, Arthur refused to acknowledge the fact that she was the one who broke it off between them because of a silly little reason like how he was an overbearing 'emotional fuckwit'. Well, screw that slapper, he thought bitterly, squashing down the heartache disturbingly easily. He was used to being alone after all.

Pulling his coat a little tighter around himself, he grudgingly trudged through the snow and cursed foully at the few times he almost slipped down the poorly-gritted pavement. Holding his ground, he stole a quick glance at the card he held between his gloved fingers. Feliciano's house was just around the corner now. He bit his lip. Perhaps he should turn back? It wasn't too late to catch a bus home now was it? Besides, no one would actually realise he wasn't around now, would they?

His feet carried on walking.

"Oh fuck it," he mumbled the moment he had finally clambered up the doorstep of the address he held in his hand and rung the doorbell. His stomach felt like it was being tied up in knots in those gruelling minutes of waiting as he shoved the invitation into the warmth of his coat pocket. He could hear muffled chatter and laughter from within as well the soft music which breathed merriment into the occasion. Ah, it was far too happy in there. Arthur ground his heel into the doormat, staring at the cursive Italian greeting on it. His fingers shifted around the invitation and settled on the carton of cigarettes. "Actually, I think I should ju-"

The door flung open and Arthur flinched a little when he was suddenly bathed in light.

"Sorry about that! I wa…Arthur? Is that really you? Oh my god. Oh wow, it's been ages!" came a vaguely familiar voice. It was soft and sounded genuinely pleased – a thing he rarely received nowadays.

Arthur glanced up and he found himself looking into a face he had _definitely_ seen before but couldn't really place from where. He blinked, his brows furrowing together in thought as he took in the protruding curl which hung before those gentle eyes. Where was it? Work? No that was far too recent. At a shop? In a queue to the cash machine? His neighbour? Heavens, no. A friend of a friend, perhaps?

If Arthur had been staring at him with an odd look on his face, the man seemed to have overlooked it because he suddenly reached into Arthur's personal bubble and gently grasped him by the elbow, steering him into the house. "Come on in. Feli's a little busy in the kitchen with Ludwig. I'm really sorry to make you wait out a little - you know how ridiculously crazy everyone was back in – no, actually everyone still is. Can you believe that? It feels just like the good old days," the man laughed as Arthur stripped his coat off and hung it on the rack, still trying to figure out who this person was.

Sadly, he hadn't been able to come to a conclusion before he was quickly ushered into the living room by the overly friendly man. Arthur sputtered at this though it was only returned with an amused yet equally rueful smile. "Go on!" the man encouraged before giving a final push to Arthur's back. What greeted him then was a sight which made Arthur catch his breath, a wave of nostalgia crashing onto his unprepared self and for once, he was glad that his legs were surprisingly steady in spite of him being notoriously clumsy when he least expect to be. He found himself surrounded by a sea of familiar faces and whilst it ignited some warmth in his chest, Arthur stood rooted to the spot feeling exceptionally lost. He was starting to regret his decision of not forcing Kiku to come along to this party with him. That said, where was that no good brother of-

He felt the unnamed man leave his side. Arthur panicked a little and before he could call him back, an arm was suddenly flung around his shoulders. The sharp smell of beer stung his nostrils.

"O-Oi!" Arthur squawked, alarmed with the audacity of this new person. "Gerro-!"

"Hej! I swore I'd seen ya somewhere! Well fuck, who woulda thought I'd see yer face again! Ya don' look any older!" An obnoxiously loud voice sang. Arthur looked up and was met with the grinning face of a familiar Danish man.

A name popped in his head. "M-Mikkel? As in the King Mikkel? Self-proclaimed viking of our time Mikkel?" Arthur couldn't believe his eyes. Apart from the faint lines of crow's feet which were starting to appear at the corner of his eyes, Mikkel looked exactly the same as he always had years ago.

"Damn right, it is. Fuck, I haven't heard that name in a while, y'know!" Mikkel threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh, making the flush on his cheeks grow deeper in colour as he drew Arthur closer to his broad form in order to ruffle his hair in a rather affectionate manner. A thing he used to always do back during the days when they were block mates. Arthur felt the corners of his lips tug up into a small smile. It felt nice. The familiar clamour, the headiness of beer on Mikkel's breath, the comfortable warmth which enveloped the room. Arthur's fingers twitched and he raised his hand to touch his old friend's back. Yes, it really was nice-

Mikkel's grin widened into a lewd one, his brows wriggling suggestively. "So? How many right now?"

_Fuck._

Arthur's mouth twitched, knowing very well what Mikkel meant yet he opted to tackle the problem in a roundabout way. "What…whatever do you mean?" he asked slowly, mustering a small lilt of confusion in his voice to make him sound authentic. It didn't hurt to play dumb for a bit. Perhaps, Mikkel would just –

Breaking into another fit of laughter, Mikkel slapped his back hard and spilt some of the beer he held in his hand to the carpet. "Walking pussies ya greedy bastard! Still raking 'm all in eh?" he roared, unperturbed by the vulgarity of his language much to the dismay of a man nearby who glared towards their direction. Ah...Vash was it? It was no wonder he was glaring though, his sister Elise (or was it Eva?) seemed to be nearby.

With Mikkel directing his full attention onto him, Arthur tried his best to not falter under his gaze. However, as always, whenever he was confronted with this question (or anything which was related to his relationships in general) he found himself flushing in embarrassment, shoulders stiffened. "Ah, no. None of that. Not anymore," he mumbled shamefacedly.

"Sikke noget pis!"Mikkel exclaimed, slapping Arthur's back once more with such force that it almost made him topple if it weren't for the Dane grabbing his shoulder to shake him. "What, y'snagged yerself an actual missus? That's great! So when's the we-?" He blinked when he saw Arthur shaking his head and he tilted his head a little to the side in puzzlement. "Hva'?"

Arthur cleared his throat in discomfort, averting his eyes for a moment before he steadied his gaze on his old friend's face. "No. No, that is, I'm actually, well, single at the moment. No girl. No wedding." There. He said it. Laid it out raw and bare for all to hear and feast on. He tried to ignore the number of looks he was receiving from those nearby and focused on Mikkel's expression, expecting the shift from the look of surprise to one of remorse. Or smugness. Yes, he has received those looks before – from the loved-up married co-workers at the workplace, from his prying neighbours, from his own fucking _brothers_. Yet the response he received from Mikkel was different and a definite first.

He laughed at his face. No, scratch that. Mikkel _guffawed_. Arthur had to take a small step back to avoid getting any beer spilled on his shirt. "Fuck yer funny! And y'know what, guess who 'm shacking up with? Remember Norge? Lukas? 'Course ya do. Ja, him. Me and 'im are gonna get married on a Lego boat!" he proudly proclaimed, puffing out his chest a little. Arthur couldn't help but raise his brows in disbelief. _Did he…did he just overlook what I said?_ "-'nd then we're gonna fuck each other's brains out jus' like they do on the discovery chan-"

At one moment he was standing beside him when the next, Arthur found himself blinking down at the sight of Mikkel keeling over and coughing. Glancing up, Arthur then realised that Lukas was now in their company, his face still as stone as he nodded in polite acknowledgement. Arthur nodded in return and he tried his best to ignore the fact that the man was holding a butter knife.

"Lu...Lukas, babe," Mikkel wheezed as he straightened his back, chuckling and grinning at Norwegian man. "You remember Arthur? Vildbasse Arthur? I was jus' tellin' him about us gettin' married like Sverige and Tin-urk!"

After stabbing the butt of his knife into Mikkel's gut, Lukas calmly turned to Arthur. "Don't listen to this babbling idiot," he deadpanned before swatting Mikkel's hand away as the Dane tried to climb back up to his feet.

"R-Right," Arthur shook off the initial shock which came over him and upon remembering the dysfunctional relationship between these two men, he sought a quick exit. The last thing he wanted to do was find himself caught in the middle of a crossfire. "Well I was just about to greet the lovely hosts of the party so if you'll excuse me," he said, gesticulating towards an open door not too far from them, assuming that it was the kitchen. Again, Lukas simply nodded and Mikkel raised his arm, waving it from his position on the ground.

"Lukas and me'll be sendin' out them invites real soon so ya bett'r keep yer sche-arg! Ow-owow-! B-Babe- y-yer steppin'-!"

"Zip it, runknisse."

Arthur quickly left the scene.

 

* * *

 

For what seemed to the umpteenth time that night, Arthur forced yet another smile over the rim of his ninth glass of champagne before taking a long drag of his cigarette. Whilst he was glad that Feliciano and Ludwig did not mind their guests smoking indoors, he was starting to feel increasingly annoyed with the ever prominent fact that he was only surrounded by couples. Why, it seemed that almost every single person in the room were either together with one another or was already comfortably settled in a stable relationship with some good soul out there. Standing near the buffet table were Berwald and Tino, who wore matching Christmas jumpers (much to Arthur's amusement and horror) and they had their elbows close to each other as they lovingly mounted food on top each other's plates. Not too far from them, seated comfortably on a leather sofa were Juan and the man who had greeted Arthur at the door earlier on (Arthur still couldn't place a name – was it John?), happily chatting about (most presumably) their own spouses to Vash and his sister. Standing by the drinks table were Emil (Lukas's younger brother) and an unfamiliar man who wore pair of sunglasses and a bow tie as he puffed heavily on his cigar. The man seemed to be griping about something out loud and gruffly, his hand flailing about animatedly whilst Emil looked rather disinterested, his thumbs tapping across the screen of his smartphone. What a strange pair.

Arthur absentmindedly nodded at Roderich's words as he passionately explained the intricacy of some piano design to Ludwig who twirled his own cigarette between his fingers. Beside them, Elizabeta and Feliciano were engrossed in some talk about the latest fashion trends for weddings dresses. Arthur glanced down at his half-empty glass in slight disappointment and he was in the middle of contemplating on whether he should really go and fetch another glass when Feliciano suddenly spoke up. "Oh! Feliks designs weddings, doesn't he? He makes really pretty dresses and flowers and decorations and – ve, you've had his work featured in your magazine, haven't you Arthur? They were magical weren't they?" the Italian chirped in excitement with a clap of his hands. "Don't you agree that Elizabeta would look really beautiful in one of his designs?"

"Well, yes Feliks's work is fantastic and all but I'm not in charge of publishing the actual…I mean, I'm only part of the editing team so-"

"Oh, stop it you! There's no way I would! In fact, I think _he_ would be the one who will look stunning in his own creations!" Elizabeta giggled, her cheeks flushing prettily as she hid her smile behind her fingers. Under the light of the room, her wedding ring glimmered tauntingly and Arthur had to force his eyes away to hide his envy. It was no surprise she and Roderich were already happily married. The two had been an item for as long as he could remember. "Oh! Speaking of which," Elizabeta's green eyes turned to him. "Where is he? And Kiku? They couldn't make it?"

Arthur shook his head as he took another long drag of his smoke, relishing in the unhealthy wash of tobacco through his lungs. "Feliks is still on a business trip in Europe and Kiku…well, it's not exactly easy being a teacher now is it?"

The two nodded in agreement. "Ve, it really is a shame that Kiku couldn't come. Ludwig and I were really looking forward to seeing him again. It's been so long ever since he trained to become a qualified professor. I really miss him," Feliciano sighed, looking rather crestfallen and this earned him a small pat on the arm by Elizabeta. Noticing this, Ludwig looked up from his conversation with Roderich and for what seemed to be the first time that night, albeit briefly, his expression had softened a little.

Arthur hummed at this, flashing a rueful smile as he tapped off the ashes of his cigarette on a nearby ashtray. "Well, I'm sure he'll be able to pop by once his workload has lessened. He's brilliant in that way, ever so disciplined…by the way, where is Gilbert?"

"Gil?" Feliciano looked puzzled for a moment and he cast a glance to Ludwig who simply shook his head with an exasperated sigh, making the Italian laugh sheepishly. Elizabeta and Roderich sighed in unison and upon realising this, they caught each other's glances and smiled sweetly.

Arthur ignored the small twinge in his chest and snorted softly. "No surprise there," he remarked before he stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray and rose from his seat. "Drinks anyone?" He received a few nods before he proceeded to make his way towards the glasses of champagne, steering clear of Mikkel and Lukas who both seemed to have calmed down from their earlier antics and were currently tucked in the corner of the room, looking rather intimate. He had managed to swim through a group of mingling guests in order to reach the table (he had never seen them before – perhaps they were Feliciano's relatives?) and just as he was in the process of setting a few glasses on a tray to carry back, an elbow nudged the small of his back. Startled, Arthur yelped and lurched forward, the glasses toppling over and causing the pale yellow liquid to spill across the pristine white tablecloth.

Shit. He mentally berated himself in a moment of panic, his hands furiously dabbing at the wet spot with some napkins he had reached over and snatched from near the fruit bowl. "There. That should-" It was only after he heard a few thuds on the floor did it come to his realisation that in his haste to clean the stain, Arthur had actually knocked the fruit bowl over as well. And now all the fruits were rolling across the floor, attracting the attention of many as an orange was stepped on, drawing a scream from the unsuspecting woman who tried to shake it off her heel. From the corner of his eye, he saw Emil raise his phone to take a picture. Bollocks.

"Oh shit, sorry man. You okay?"

He whipped his head around, his eyes bulging in disbelief at the airy voice which spoke to him. With his shoulders stiff and an expletive set and ready to fire from his mouth, there was no way this unfortunate sod was going to escape his wrath after embarrassing him like this (even though it wasn't that much, those nine glasses of champagne had started to cloud Arthur's judgement slightly). But wait. Arthur blinked and his eyes immediately settled on the hand-stitched embellishment of an _alien_ on a navy knitted jumper. He stared at it closely, squinting to take in the egg-shaped head and the large bug-like eyes. Yes it really was an alien. And was that the word 'fucking limey' in a caption next to it…?

A hand waved before his face. "Hay. You in there?"

Arthur lifted his eyes to meet a pair of bright blue ones. Really bright blue. There was a small, odd twinge in his chest and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt a little. Or was it melting? Did he even drink that much? Arthur couldn't really tell because all he could do at that moment then was to simply stare into those blue eyes (blue and gold reflecting and glimmering off glass? Glasses?), entranced.

"Arthur, are you alright? I heard something happened and oh, don't worry about the mess there. The waitress will get to it and- ah, I see you've met my brother," A familiar soft voice cut through his thoughts and Arthur tore his gaze from the blueness to fix it on the gentle face of the familiar stranger who had greeted him at the door an hour or so ago.

"What?" Arthur said unintelligently.

The man laughed, jutting his thumb to his left. "My little brother, Alfred. He's just arrived from New York a few days ago and he'll be working in London as an attorney. Or a barrister is what you'd call it here."

"Solicitor, Matt. We're called solicitors here."

Arthur cringed a little at how this Alfred's voice rang so clearly his ears. It sounded far too optimistic, far too confident, far too young. How envious. Arthur glanced up, his eyes catching the broadness of Alfred's shoulders (which caused his jumper to stretch across his chest – poor bloke) before he reached his face. Oh, would look at that? The blueness was really staring at him through a pair of glasses. Just like the man standing beside him…

Ah.

Realisation dawned on Arthur's face. "Fuck a duck, you're Matthew, aren't you?" he exclaimed.

Matthew blinked, an unreadable look crossing his face before he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly. "Yeah, it's me. You got me." It sounded a little forced.

When his brain had finally caught up with what he had done, Matthew had excused himself to answer a call on his phone. Arthur watched him leave the room in remorse. He must apologise to him later because right now Alfred was staring at him rather intently. Too intently, like he was trying to drill a hole in his face. Shit. He and Matthew were brothers now, weren't they? He must be upset – what was he saying, of course Alfred was upset. Who wouldn't be with an inconsiderate prick who had blatantly expressed how he had forgotten his former friend and said person's sibling? _Arthur, you are the biggest twat in the fucking universe._ Better mend things with him, first.

Arthur cleared his throat, racking his brain frantically for something intelligent as he shuffled his feet across the carpet, making way for a waitress to pass by. He gave her a stiff nod of thanks for cleaning up the mess before he finally shifted his attention to Alfred.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry about-I mean, I've decided to draw up some resolutions for the upcoming year and cutting down alcohol units was one of them, alongside getting a proper girl and all. As well as quit smoking though I don't think that has worked out much seeing how I've only managed to increase the numbers of cartons over the years…I am boring you with my life story now, aren't I? Ah, right, so uh, about your brother, I mean if you look on the bright side I suppose he's sort of used to it in some way. He always had back during the days since he's not the sort of person who'd leave an impression on you, if you understand what I mean, so…" he trailed off the moment he realised how increasingly uncomfortable Alfred's open staring was becoming. Huh, it must be an American thing to stare down at another person when he's pissed off. Arthur mustered up a little courage to meet those blue eyes with a rather unsuccessful attempt at a smile, laughing weakly. "Sorry, I'm gabbling. You know, it's a thing that a lot of people tend to do when they're under the influence of alcohol or when they feel a little, if not, really out of place but you see, what I really meant to say wa-"

Alfred was not staring at his eyes.

Arthur stopped talking, finding this all too unsettling and he followed the direction of where Alfred had been centring his attention on for the past few minutes since they were in each other's company. Above? His hair? No, a little lower. His forehead? What, was there something on…?

"Are you staring at my eyebrows?" The disbelief rang clear in his voice and this alone had made Alfred blink out of his reverie.

"Oh they're real?"

Arthur was speechless, aghast by the tactless remark. And as if that wasn't enough, Alfred had the sheer audacity to lean into his personal bubble in order to inspect his brows. "O-Oi!" Arthur took a step back to re-establish the comfortable space between them, his hand rising up to flatten his bangs out of consciousness. "What…what are you doing?"

A bright smile bloomed on Alfred's face at this, accentuating the youthfulness of his boyish face before he laughed. It was a pleasant rumble, much different than Gilbert's gravelly cackle or Mikkel's guffaws, yet to Arthur it sounded two times more unpleasant. "Dude, you kidding me? I thought you guys were playing a game already, y'know, like you lost to something and then you got caterpillars slapped on your face! Oh man, I can't believe people like you actually exist! You're hilarious!" he had managed to say in one breath before he burst into peals of laughter.

Now Arthur was well aware of his faults (socially and physically) and if anything, it would be accurate to say that his eyebrows were one of the crucial factors which contributed to his sense of his insecurity. As such, to have some yank make some flippant remarks about them within the first fifteen minutes of their acquaintanceship…well, it was pretty straightforward to state that Arthur's first impression of Alfred was that he was nothing but a spectacularly rude person. Perhaps the biggest asshole he had ever met in his life. In fact-

"You're a downright prat, you know that." The words came out before he even thought of them.

Alfred stopped laughing and he looked at him, blinking in surprise. "Huh?"

"Not to mention exceptionally impolite too. And you know what? Your jumper. I couldn't help but notice that it's rather cute, isn't it? Aliens and all. What was it, did you get it when you were twelve? I'm astonished to see just how well it fits you," sniffed Arthur as he made his way around the buffet table, giving the man a once over before his eyes fell on a rather pronounced cowlick in Alfred's hair which stuck out like sore thumb. It reminded him a little of Feliciano and his curl. He resisted the urge to tug it and settled with scooping some pasta on a plate he had absentmindedly picked up along the way.

The American frowned but followed suit, mirroring Arthur's actions from the other side of the buffet. Only that he was scooping up twice the amount of food. "Hey, that's rude, man. I got this sweater from Matt when I just landed here."

"Oh is it?" Arthur reached for the stuffed peppers. "And I suppose _you_ weren't rude."

"Wha…? I didn't…oh that. Aw, come on man, look. I think there's a little bit of a misunderstanding here. I didn't insult you, Adam."

"Arthur," he corrected him with a sharp tut. "Arthur Kirkland. Pleasantries aside, what you said just now was nothing but a shitload of bollocks, Archie."

"It's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones and bollwhat?"

"Of your balls that's wha-"

" _CONGRATULATIONS!_ "

There was an eruption of cheers and thunderous applause from the other side of the room, centred where he had been previously seated at with Feliciano and the others. Startled by the noise, Arthur released the serving spoon in his hand and it clattered loudly into the chafing dish, making him cringe. "Sh-Shit! Oh for fuck's sake, get a hold of yourself!" he hissed, mentally berating himself for his jitteriness as he quickly set the spoon back to its original place before he cast a glare to Alfred. "Wh-what is it?"

Alfred looked at him for a moment with a slight quirk of his brow before he glanced over to where a small crowd was growing, a smile growing on his face. "One of your friends, Liz I think. She's three months pregnant. Man, I'm jealous. Me and my girl, we haven't even reached that stage yet." Alfred sheepishly laughed as he picked up his fork and began to pick at the mountain of pasta on his plate. "How about you? Planning to get hitched anytime soon?"

Arthur stared at him coldly, his lips pursed into a taut line as his fingers tightened around the rim of his plate.

Alfred munched on his pasta slowly, running what seemed to be a calculative glance over him, before he finally swallowed with a knowing smile on lips. "Whoa, a confirmed bachelor? Seriously? Well, who would've thought? Damn Austin, you really are-"

"It's _Arthur_. Now fuck off." And with that, Arthur calmly set his plate down on the buffet table with a strained smile before he quietly slipped out the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where we are introduced to the workplace, 'Perpetua' and 'Daniel Cleaver'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, thought I'd throw in this chapter as well for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

Arthur's flat was in a shambolic state of mess.

Ever since he had returned back to London, a little tipsy from the bubbly at Feliciano's party, he had dismantled his drinking cabinet and took far too many swigs out of every bottle he had stashed within it. He had laughed, cried and cursed at same time through his irresponsible drinking, deciding to sod all his resolutions because, really, there will be never be awonderful girl like Elizabeta in his life. Why, who would ever want to settle down and have some children with this spectacularly dull, unconfident, professionally stagnant, caterpillar-browed person anyway? Nobody would, that's what.

And so, after collapsing to the floor from downing seven shots of vodka in one go within a span of thirty seconds, he vaguely remembered ringing up Kiku shortly after before he proceeded to wail down the telephone about his cursed ineptitude, about how his faults outweighed pretty much anything remotely good about him and how he was doomed to die alone with his head bowed over the toilet and his leg being chewed off by his nosey-parker neighbour Mrs. Johnson's Scottish Terrier. Rather than slam the phone down like many people would upon receiving a call at such an ungodly hour, Kiku had stayed on the line and listened (though he wasn't too sure if the Japanese man was because he might have dozed off, opting to hum in agreement only as Arthur bemoaned) before he stated rather calmly, in that remarkably soothing sleep-laced voice, that Arthur must be very tired and that it would be best if he set the alcohol aside (particularly the scotch) and rested. It took a lot of convincing before Arthur had finally, albeit reluctantly, set the phone down and staggered into the bathroom with the prospect of hanging his head over the toilet to puke his insides out. And so, it carried on like this through to New Years day; heavy drinking and calling Kiku in the middle of the night, watching television, eating out the contents of his fridge, smoking an impossible amount of cigarettes per day out of sheer boredom, flipping through his stash of porn magazines in disinterest, scrolling through various match-making websites in hope of finding that one special girl…

Ah, it was all going nowhere.

And so, that was how he found himself currently sporting a splitting headache from a terrible hangover as he made his way to his modest desk in the editorial wing of Elixir magazine with a bottle of still water in one hand and a men's magazine in the other. Slumping into his chair with a heavy sigh, it didn't take long for a certain co-worker to look up from his Tupperware container of smuggled steamed buns before he tucked it away in favour of swivelling his chair to face him. Arthur fought back a groan at the knowing smile which was flashed at him from across their paralleling desks and he forced a strained smile on his face out of habitual courteousness. "Yao. Morning. Happy New Year," he greeted as cordially as he could, wetting his lips the moment his ears took note of how gravelly his voice sounded. His throat was undeniably dry.

"Happy New Year," Yao replied, bobbing to his head almost sagely as he swivelled in his chair to face him. With an air of superiority, he crossed one leg over the other and rested his jaw against the palm of his hand as he looked Arthur over, his smile growing with each passing moment. It was almost as if the man knew something which he didn't and in the past, when he was new and inexperienced to this office, Yao had used his slightly older age and position in the office to squeeze a few embarrassing things out of him and use them as pivotal subjects on which he would criticise him with scathing remarks that were clearly laced with ethnocentrism. If anything, Arthur couldn't agree more with the idea of associating Yao with an overbearing, nosy aunt who liked to patronise her victims and watch them squirm helplessly under verbal lashes and cultural comparisons. If Yao wasn't commenting on his manner of dress, it would be his looks. If it weren't his looks, it would be his food (intake of food, more likely). And if it weren't his food…well, let's simply say that Yao had a lot of things he could pick to criticise on.

Lacking the sufficient amount of brainpower needed to thwart off the trap which Yao would lay by throwing a little bit of bait at him, he opted to drink his water instead to quench his thirst. But that was all the Chinese man needed. A head start in the conversation.

"You know, I really had no idea that you went to Feli-something's party," he started off with a voice which was a little too loud, too high-pitched and too _thick_ for Arthur's liking. "I didn't think you still go to party. Hm, still young inside, eh?"

Arthur rolled his seat closer to his desk in the wild hope that Yao would have taken the hint that he was not interested in becoming his piece of entertainment for the morning. "Well, Feliciano is my friend so of course I would attend," he simply said, taking another big gulp of water as he flipped open his magazine to resume where he had left off when he was on the tube. Not that he had been able to do any reading in the first place. Trains and hangovers don't mix very well after all. He tried to ignore the phantom weight which had been placed on the crown of his head and how everything around him was far too bright and lively for his tastes. He really should have had a pint of water before falling face first on the floor of his bathroom last night, rather than allowing himself to be far too drowned in his self-loathing and misery. Why, he could have even grabbed some painkillers on his way out the door this morning but it was unfortunate that he hadn't the chance to because he had been running late. Seemingly to have dismissed the curtness of his answer entirely, Yao had decided roll his chair up beside him in order to read over his shoulder and Arthur frowned at this, distracted by the sudden closeness.

"Um, Yao, I'd really appreciate it if-"

Yao hummed noncommittally. "You Englishmen are very perverted huh. In every single piece of published material you produce in this country, there is always a picture of a half-naked woman."

Arthur's cheeks flushed in embarrassment at this and he sputtered, taking one moment to collect his muddled thoughts before he gave Yao a bewildered stare. "Excuse me?"

The man simply ran his fingers through his ponytail and munched around a steamed bun which he had reached over and picked up from his desk. "You've split up with Lauren from Marketing, haven't you?"

"Wha-h-how did you-"

Yao laughed, almost patronisingly, with bits of bun sputtering out of his mouth which landed here and there. " _Aiyaa_ , like _everyone_ knows. Haven't you heard? She's dating that Richie-Ricky-Mickey from Finance now. You know, the Indian guy. Ah, I really pity you, _méi mao_ , you must be really bad. Of course you are bad. It's no secret that you do phone sex every fortnight. How disgraceful of you to do these sort of things. You English really have no shame," he remarked flippantly.

Arthur stared at him in horror, wondering where on earth had Yao actually acquired such personal information but before he could further inquire on it, the man had rolled off back to his own desk, hurriedly stuffing the rest of his bun into his mouth as another man had entered the office and strutted over to their desks in a succession of confident strides.

"Yao, I believe you have the unedited slips for pages 67 to 73 on you? Belle has sent you the email yesterday, did she not? The one with the spring dresses?" A smooth and accented voice cut between them and Arthur looked up to find his superior leaning rather gracefully against Yao's desk with a handsome smile.

Ah, yes. Francis Bonnefoy. Editor-in-chief at _Elixir_ magazine and the very epitome of suaveness. Word around the office tells that not only was he successful professionally and damn well good at running things so smoothly in the office, but he was also a well-known bona fide sex god who enjoyed making moves on anything which was young and pretty. Personally, Arthur hadn't really come to interact with Francis much in spite of the working at Elixir for the past two years, what with his jaded outlook on life and his social skills being not of high calibre in general. That said, he rarely had the opportunity to do such a thing as well. Francis had nothing to do with him after all. He was nothing but an editorial assistant.

Francis's hair was falling in waves today rather than the usual loose ponytail he'd always don every other day. It was different but not entirely unpleasant. In fact, the change of hairstyle had caught the interest of everyone in the office. Arthur stared at it in envy, suddenly feeling very conscious of his own dull and ever unruly mop. When Francis flicked his hair over his shoulder, Arthur caught a whiff of the man's unique perfume. A pleasant smell it was, light and cool. Probably expensive and ridiculously French. Arthur frowned, resisting the urge to slam his head against his desk because of he was starting to cringe at how his boss's hair seemed to be glowing far too brightly at him. It was almost as if it was mocking him.

"Ah! You mean this one?" Yao finally emerged from behind a mountain of Tupperware containers and oriental snacks (Arthur had always wondered where the man had been stashing his endless supplies of food), brandishing a few printed papers in his relatively cleaner hand.

"Ah, yes. That is the one. _Merveilleux_. _Merci_ , Yao."

Oh God, why was everyone around him foreign? Shaking his head in an effort to clear it of any ill thoughts, Arthur took another deep gulp of his water, hoping to wash his hangover out quickly.

"Rough night?"

Arthur lifted his chin and he found himself blinking stupidly into a pair of blue eyes which bore down rather intently into his own. They were a deeper shade of blue, much deeper than that insufferable Alvin person's, but startlingly dazzling nonetheless. "Sorry?" he repeated dumbly.

Francis smiled charmingly at him. "You have a…something rather…hm, somewhere right there," he gesticulated towards his own head with a smooth wave of his hand.

"Huh?" Arthur blinked owlishly at the other and before his sluggish mind could catch up with what was being said to him in a rather inarticulate way, he felt his boss's hand touch his hair. It felt far too comfortable, far too casual the way the man's fingers had sifted through his tangled locks before they finally retracted. Arthur stared at Francis, a little unsettled by the unexpected touch.

Francis held up what seemed to be a piece of cereal. The lost sibling of a Cheerio perhaps. No, make that two Cheerios. Puzzled, Arthur squinted. Wait a minute. Scratch that, it was actually a piece of bacon. Fuck, how did _that_ get there?

"Accident in the kitchen?" his boss said, voice lilting with amusement.

Arthur wetted his lips, his eyes widening a little as he racked his brain for something rather intelligent to respond. However, all that came out of him then was: "No, I dropped to sleep with my head bowed over the toilet."

Suddenly the entire office fell silent. Beside him, Yao, who had managed to sneakily pop a snack into his mouth, suddenly choked and he coughed loudly, smacking his chest to dislodge the piece of chocolate. Francis, on the other hand, merely arched his brow before he slowly placed the piece of bacon on Arthur's desk.

"…I see. Well, _bonne année_ …?"

"Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland."

Francis nodded at this before he coolly collected the papers Yao had handed to him and crossed the floor to his office, shutting the door with a firm click behind him.

Arthur dropped his head against his desk. "…bollocks."

Brilliant. What an exceptionally bad way to start the year.

 

* * *

 

Ever since that embarrassing incident with the bacon on the first day of returning to work, Arthur had noticed how his chances of bumping into Francis had increased dramatically over the next few days. It felt somewhat unnatural and very, very awkward. Arthur had found it difficult to look at Francis properly in the eye, in spite of the friendly smiles which had been cast towards him in polite greeting by the man whenever they happened to cross each other's path. Arthur had often wondered if he should apologise to Francis for uttering such stupidity back then and for projecting a rather bad image of himself during their first proper meeting. However, the more Arthur had dwelled on it, the more uncomfortable he began to feel with the notion of himself being anywhere near Francis. The last thing he needed was for his clumsiness to step in and confirm how much of an incompetent fool he was to his ever so cool and poised superior.

Just as Arthur was retreating back to his desk after photocopying a few documents which were to be faxed off, Yao had leapt over his desk in order to deposit an impossible amount of paperwork into his arms before he disappeared out of the office because a minor 'emergency' (which Arthur had learnt meant he had gone off to make a snack run). Arthur sighed in exasperation and ever so slowly and carefully he made his way down the corridor, struggling to keep the stack of papers tucked safely under his chin. It was a good thing most of them were bound together with elastic bands. Right, so where were these supposed to go…?

"Hello! You need help?"

Arthur halted his careful steps and he peered over the papers to meet the gaze of a pretty young woman who stood before him. He blinked, eyes lighting up interest at the sight of the ribbon fixed rather cutely in her short hair. She was an unfamiliar face. A new employee perhaps? He stared at her, a little dumbfounded, as he tried to figure out what she was saying under the heaviness of her accent. "Er, sorry?"

She giggled girlishly at this, her lips curling up sweetly. "You look…you need help?" she had repeated once more but then decided to take a step in anyway, in order to ease some of the load off of him before Arthur could even reject her in an act of chivalrousness. As she did this, he had managed to catch sight of the nametag which dangled around her neck. Belle. What a lovely name. He cast a furtive look to her low-cut blouse, catching sight of the dip of her cleavage for a split-second as she leaned over a little to cradle the papers carefully into her arms. C-Cup. Nice.

"Ah, you're too kind. Thank you," he said as they walked side by side.

Belle smiled brightly at him. "No, it's okay. I had nothing to do and you struggled so I helped," she chirped in a singsong voice.

"Are you new here?"

She nodded, her ribbon bobbing with the movement. There was something rather coquettish about Belle and Arthur found himself becoming increasingly attracted to that peculiar quality. "Yes. I'm a…transfer? No, training…yes, training here. I'm from Belgium but I really like England very much so I tried and now I'm here."

Ah, an intern. Well that was a rarity for _Elixir_. It wasn't often that the company would take in fresh graduates, especially foreign ones, unless they were exceptionally good. Arthur couldn't help but watch Belle from the corner of his eye as they walked, appraising her discreetly. For one thing, she was undeniably _fit_. That, and she seemed rather pleasant too. He recalled reading the 'Sex and Relationships' segment in the latest issue of _Him_. This month's article revolved around office romances, about the basic tips which would guarantee you to get the girl you had been fancying for some time. But this was different. He had just met Belle. Should he proceed with the five steps and just give it a shot? But should he really though, especially after shortly splitting up with Lauren? Would that project a bad image of him to the rest of his work colleagues? No, no. That wasn't it. The important question which needed to be addressed was what were the chances of this stunning girl wanting to go out with him in the first place anyway? Better yet, was she even single for that matter?

As Arthur struggled to reassemble his thoughts in an orderly manner and conjure up a good starting subject they could converse on in order to get to know each other, Belle had led them to the photocopier room. Setting the papers down on one of the desks, she then proceeded to sort them out into neat piles straightaway. Arthur followed suit, placing the sets of bound papers into different stacks according to the particular motifs, his back straight and stiff as a board as he controlled his movements in an effort to gather himself and make himself even more presentable. First impressions were very important after all.

Right. How to start? Perhaps he should initiate a conversation by starting off with talking about her country?

Absentmindedly, he watched Belle reach over to pick up a pen before she hunched over to scribble down a note on one of the papers. It took a lot of willpower to resist the temptation to peek at her cleavage for the second time. Arthur forcefully kept his eyes trained on the papers before him and carried on dutifully assorting them.

No, talking about a country would be a little dull. He had little knowledge about Belgium in the first place so the conversation would die off all too quickly. How about asking about her place of residence in London? No, no, that was too sudden and far beyond the lines of propriety. What about complimenting on her English? Yes, yes. Brilliant. Flatter her a little to catch her attention. Good, good. Yes, fantastic. This should undoubtedly work.

He cleared his throat but kept his eyes fixed on the papers he held. "Hey, um…you know, your English…it's very good. It's really good, especially for someone who studied it as a second or perhaps a third language even. I mean, I used to study French back during my school days and I honestly still can't speak it well, even after having learnt it for about six years so I admire how you are able to speak our language so fluently. A-And your accent is lovely too. I mean it's very pleasant to the ears. I really like it," Arthur murmured, a little uncertainly, but he hoped it was loud enough. When Belle had made no response to him, he was certain that she hadn't heard him over the loud hums of the photocopier machines. He moistened his lips a little before he mustered up the small amount of courage he needed to repeat his words or perhaps even rephrase them a little better the moment he spoke. He turned to face her. "Hey, listen, Be-"

The words on his tongue had died instantly and Arthur felt his mouth drop open in shock. Pretty intern Belle was nowhere in sight. Instead, there was a man standing in her place. A man with a stubble, a head of luscious flaxen waves and dazzling blue eyes.

Oh shit.

"Well. Wow. I'm flattered, Arthur. I did not expect this but thank you," said Francis, who seemed to be cool as cucumber in spite of being found in this rather unpleasant and arguably bizarre situation.

The moment their eyes connected, however, Arthur was stunned to find his boss looking at him in slight amusement. He stared at him, aghast at his words. Oh god. He heard. He heard, didn't he? Oh fuck. He had just, though absolutely unintentionally and very very lamely, attempted chat up Francis Bonnefoy. He had just – oh shit. No. No, he did not just bloody well blabbed about learning French now, did he? Oh fuck, he had.

He took a step back, the warmth of a blush erupting across his cheeks.

Francis simply stood there, poised rather sophisticatedly by the photocopier, watching him in interest.

Arthur wetted his lips, panicking a little as his mind groped for something, anything really to explain this act of sheer folly on his part. "You…you…" he began quite intelligently, swallowing back the lump in his throat as Francis's lips quirked.

Shit.

"You have no breasts," Arthur suddenly blurted out and Francis's brows rose to his hairline.

"Oh shit. I mean, fuck, I mean, beard – no, no, sorry! I'm really sorry, sir. I mean, fuck, that's not what I was – I didn't mean to swear, it just – well, you see what I was really supposed to say was that I thought you were a woman and I was dischuffed to say the least when I realised that you weren't but-oh fuck, that came out wrong. Bugger." He shuffled his feet and felt himself grow increasingly flustered under his boss's look of surprise as awkward silence fell between them.

Not good.

He snapped his mouth shut and held his tongue, not trusting himself to speak in fear of putting his foot in his mouth. Not that he hadn't already but it was better to be safe than sorry.

After about a minute or so, Francis had finally blinked and a look of newfound understanding dawned on his face, as if he had just finished dissecting the words in his head all this time. "Well now, aren't you a silly goose," he chuckled.

Arthur turned bright red at this and before he could stop himself, he lashed back rather defensively at his boss. "S-Shut up! I am very busy and important, Mr. Bo-nee-fuah!"

" _Bon-fuah_. It is pronounced _Bon-fuah_ , Monsieur Kirkland," Francis corrected him with a small smirk. "Your French accent is terrible."

"Well I think your English accent is shit," he, for some reason, found himself saying. Brilliant. He was fucked now. Avoiding Francis's gaze, Arthur relinquished his grip on the papers which he had been clasping onto all this time and set them down onto their respective pile. "Please excuse me, I think I need some coffee," he mumbled before he turned on his heel and bolted out of the room.

 

* * *

 

"Hey. Hey, _méi mao_."

Arthur looked up from his computer screen with a slight frown, a little unhappy with the nickname which had been impertinently stapled onto him by Yao ever since the infancy of their acquaintanceship. "What is it?" he asked dubiously. He didn't like the impish look in Yao's eyes.

In spite of it still being working hours, Yao was blithely making his way through a large packet of _Ni hao Panda!_ biscuits, munching on them loudly for all to hear. He pointed towards the photocopier room, grinning from ear to ear. "I heard," he said conspiratorially before throwing his head back, laughing.

Arthur visibly stiffened at this and he scowled at the man before he turned his attention back to the document he was working on the word processor with, his fingers tapping across the keyboard with much force than necessary. It had only been about an hour or so since that embarrassing escapade with Francis in the photocopier room and it seemed as if the entire editorial wing of Elixir had heard of how things had went down on him parlously. Why, even Belle was giggling whenever she happened to spot him hunched over his desk in an attempt to make himself look smaller. He found it unnerving, the sudden attention which had been placed on him and although it was predominantly his fault in the first place for being so stupid, he couldn't help but think that Francis was to share the blame. Why, if he hadn't been standing there in the first place, none of this would happen. Speaking of which…

Arthur stole a quick glance at Francis's glass-walled office and he spotted his boss on the telephone as he worked on the computer. There was a cigarette between his lips. Arthur cocked an eyebrow. Huh.

A small beep came from his computer and Arthur peered at the screen, moving his mouse to notification bubble on the bottom corner of his desktop to access his company email. It was probably the minutes from yesterday's meeting which needed to be rephrased. He opened it.

_**Message to: Kirkland** _

_**Were you really disappointed that I do not have any breasts?** _

_**Bonnefoy** _

Arthur blinked in disbelief and he stared at the email for one good minute, particularly the email address from which it had been sent from. Francis Bonnefoy. Surely this was some sort of prank? He couldn't really have…but then again, Francis truly was in his office. There was no way some miserable sod could have hacked into his account just to send him this message.

His fingers hovered above the keys as he hesitated on how he should respond. After gruelling over the message for about seven minutes and then laboriously typing it out with much consideration and thought in the next twelve minutes, this was the final result:

_**Message to: Bonnefoy** _

_**Dear Sir,** _

_**I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for giving me an opportunity to contact you informally through this medium and to apologise for the mistake which I have made on my behalf earlier on. I had not been in the right state of mind and I sincerely apologise for indirectly assuming that you are a woman when clearly you are not. I hope this could be overlooked and that this event will not bring any complications within our working relationship in the near future.** _

_**Yours sincerely,** _

_**Arthur Kirkland.** _

_**Kirkland.** _

Arthur read it over and frowned, noticing that his reply seemed to be lacking something. But before he could get to it, Yao had suddenly turned his head towards his direction. Afraid that the man was going to skulk over to read the email, Arthur quickly pressed the 'send' button. Crap. He sighed in resignation, closing the window to resume his previous work. Ah well, what was done was done. There was no use crying over spilt milk. He would simply have to shoulder the consequences from now on. Hopefully they were favourable.

His computer beeped once more, signalling a reply. In slight trepidation, he opened the mail.

_**Message to: Kirkland** _

_**Tu es mignon.** _

_**Bonnefoy** _

Arthur stared at the words for a moment and then his chest throbbed when he realised what the message meant. Ah. He glanced around him, noticing Yao was on the now on the phone talking to some relative of his and the rest of the editors were bent over their desks busy with their own work, their cups of tea left untouched and cold. He shifted in his seat and began to type out a reply.

_**Message to: Bonnefoy** _

_**I believe you have sent your message to the wrong address, Monsoir Bonnefoy.** _

_**Kirkland** _

Not long after he sent it, a reply soon came back to him like a boomerang and Arthur wondered if perhaps Francis had actually realised his slip-up and had now sent him an apology or a threat to keep silent. He clicked on the 'open message' button.

_**Message to: Kirkland** _

_**Non. This message is referred especially to you, Arthur Kirkland. You are cute and your bad accent was quite endearing. I would like you to speak French from now on.** _

_**PS. You spelt Monsieur wrong.** _

_**Bonnefoy** _

Arthur looked up from his computer screen and his eyes widened in horror when he realised that Francis was actually watching him from his comfortable perch in his office chair, a devilishly handsome smile playing on his lips.

Oh god.

_**Message to: Bonnefoy** _

_**I'm afraid you've mistaken me with someone else. Good day.** _

_**Kirkland.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, pretty intern Belle is Belgium and Richie-Ricky-Mickey is India (though that's not his name really, but you'll have to forgive Yao for being..well, Yao).
> 
> Interesting facts: the Ni hao Panda! snack is a bootleg of Hello Panda (so you picture Hello Panda with Shinatty-chan's face yep). And I guess you could compare Elixir magazine as our world's Cosmopolitan mag.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where we witness how Francis goes about to win Arthur's heart and does not succeed. Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insinuating emails. Who doesn't love them?
> 
> Also, thank you for kudos! x

_**Message to: Kirkland (Thurs, Jan 5. 11.01)** _

_**You have bed hair, mon chéri. Are you trying to tease me? Bad boy.** _

_**Bonnefoy** _

x

_**Message to: Kirkland (Thurs, Jan 5. 13:43)** _

_**It appears that you have forgotten your belt. Your chinos are slipping. Not that I will complain. I'm getting a good view from here as you are searching for Yao's pen.** _

_**Bonnefoy** _

x

_**Message to: Kirkland (Fri, Jan 6. 16:17)** _

_**Rather than spend the last two hours watching me from your desk, you should know that you are more than welcomed to stop by my office to look at my face closely. I want to look at yours as well.** _

_**Bonnefoy** _

x

_**Message to: Kirkland (Mon, Jan 9. 10.31)** _

_**If walking past me with the smell of damask roses was an attempt to catch my attention and allure me, I must assure you that you really need not to, mon chéri, though I am very flattered. You are very cute, Arthur. How about I take you out for dinner this evening? I'm sure those chocolate fingers are not the only things you would want to put inside your mouth.** _

_**Bonnefoy.** _

Arthur's eyes widened at the last message which had just arrived in his inbox, the chocolate finger that was making its journey towards his open mouth stopping short and he blushed wildly at the last sentence which had been written.

Oh god.

A strange gurgle left his throat.

This…this was _just_ …! This was sexual harassment wasn't it? This undeniably flirtatious email from his boss…surely Francis must be bonkers! This was just _wrong_. This was not supposed to happen. There must be another Arthur Kirkland in this company – there _must_ be! Fucking bobble-headed dogs, what would a normal person do in such a distressing situation? Ring in a report to the Industrial Tribunal? No, no. What was thinking? He is a **man**. Men _do not_ report. Men settle things with fists. Fists? Fuck, that was even worse. He'd lose his job. Okay, okay. Something was definitely amiss. Why was Francis Bonnefoy suddenly interested in _him_ of all people?

Flustered and with his appetite lost, he dropped his chocolate finger into the small rubbish bin which sat by his feet before he started typing furiously.

_**Message to: Bonnefoy (Mon, Jan 9. 10.34)** _

_**I'd appreciate it if you did not make it your sport to send me such insinuating messages on a daily basis through this impertinent manner of messaging, Mr. Bonnefoy. Or try to make passes on me whenever we meet.** _

_**Kirkland** _

"Oi! _Méi mao_!"

Arthur hastily clicked on the 'send' button before he closed the window and looked up to see Yao standing at the other end of the office, a piece of tape-like candy hanging from his mouth. "Yes?" he answered, hoping the blush had finally worn off from his face. Yao had a knowing look on his face as he chewed on his candy slowly and this made Arthur feel very unsettled. He watched how the rest of the raspberry pink tape slowly disappeared into the man's mouth.

"Go pick the drafts up from Suzie," he finally said after he swallowed and then yawned rather obnoxiously before his arm accidentally knocked over an editor's cup of coffee, the dark liquid spilling across a few sheets of documents and his front of his trousers. Yao sought this as paltry however and he simply waved his hand at this, much to the dismay of the poor editor who tried to separate the stained sheets with a scowl. When Yao noticed Arthur had not budged from his position behind his desk, he cast him a look. "Suzie. You still remember her, yes? The one who broke up with you last time because you thought she was wearing a wig? _Aiyaa_ , don't tell me you forgot her already? Remember that time when you tried to tear off her-"

Arthur rose from his seat, his cheeks flushing with colour. "Yes, yes, I haven't forgotten. Now will you please stop bringing that up, Yao!" he said with an exasperated look, trying to ignore the curious glance which the coffee-stained editor gave towards him. Yao's brows rose at this and upon noticing the obvious look of discomfort which was reflecting off his face, a wicked grin erupted across his lips. With his overbearing 'gossipmonger aunt' mode on, Yao held the editor's shoulder in a vice-grip as he forcefully swivelled him in his seat so that they were face to face. "You know, the wig wasn't really the actual reason why she split up with him," he began. "See, it's really because he said he'd prefer her to have bigge-"

Arthur moved around his desk, a highlighter pen clasped tightly in his hand. But before he could reach Yao to silence him (he wasn't sure what he could do with a highlighter pen – perhaps colour his face into submission?), he was suddenly knocked over an opposing force which collided against his body. Startled, he staggered a few steps in an attempt to re-establish his balance before a hand reached out to steady him.

"My, my. You are unexpectedly energetic today. Did I really perk you up that much?" Francis's smooth and ridiculously velvety voice had interrupted his thoughts but it was only when his boss's breath had swept across his cheek did Arthur force his arm out of the man's grip before he took a few steps away from him. What was it with Francis and invading his personal space these past few days? It was as if the man actually enjoyed cornering him and teasing him at any of the chances they happened to not be behind their respective desks. He scowled lightly at the amused look on Francis's face.

"Hmph, stop being so full of yourself, Mr. Bonnefoy. As if you have the capability of doing such a thing," Arthur retorted in a rare display of defiance which had Yao perk up in slight interest. Opting to eavesdrop instead, he turned and shoved the coffee-stained editor back to his desk none too gently before he skulked back to his workspace, eyeing them like a vulture, though this went unnoticed by the two men.

Francis simply chuckled in response, his loose ponytail falling across one shoulder. "Is that so? Well I am sorry for that. Perhaps it would be better if I put more effort in it, _non_?"

Arthur stared at him, a little at a loss for words. "I-I beg your pardon?" he stammered out in slight disbelief.

"Effort. To perk you up, that is. You see, I thought that it will be good if I should take you out on that di-"

"No! No, thank you. Tha…That won't be necessary, really," Arthur interjected when he noticed the dangerous turn their conversation was about to take. He glanced over Francis's shoulder and spotted Yao behind his desk, watching them closely with brazen assurance and this made him feel all the more uncomfortable. "I need to collect some papers right now," he hurriedly added.

Francis sighed, almost dramatically, with a tilt of his head. " _Ah bon_. Well, it cannot be helped. You are busy and important after all," he replied with a wink.

Arthur held back a snappy retort and he decided to entertain his boss with a stiff nod, ignoring the small throb in his chest when he realised how Francis had actually remembered his stupid words.

"…á plus tard," he mumbled, cringing at how decisively crippled his pronunciation was before he quickly turned to leave the room so as to not catch the look which crossed his boss's face. Just as he was about to step out into the corridor, he felt that a presence stand directly behind him and he stopped in tracks, a little irked, and glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened in disbelief.

"What…what are you…I've already said goodb-are you following me?" he blurted out accusingly, gaping at Francis who (Arthur had just realised was actually a few inches taller than him) was looking down at him in mirth.

"Pas du tout," Francis laughed and Arthur felt his face flush in embarrassment. "Whatever made you think of such a thing? Oh lá lá, I see that you have quite the imagination, Arthur. Did you fantasise me trapping you against the wall in the elevator? How scandalous."

"Wha-? No! No, god, fuck no! I-I mean, th-that's just ridiculous! Absolutely not! I had never-!" Arthur sputtered in a pathetic attempt to save face. He mentally cursed how increasingly hot his face was becoming.

"Oh? Well, that is a shame," said Francis in slight disappointment. In spite of saying this, he seemed somewhat pleased for some unnamed reason (if that smirk was anything to go by) before he stepped around Arthur, his shrewd hand brushing ever so subtly across the small of the Londoner's back.

Arthur stiffened at the contact and his heart skipped a beat as he felt Francis's shoulder press against his own, in spite of how wide the door was.

"I was looking forward to something, mon chéri."

 

* * *

 

_**Message to: Kirkland (Mon, Jan 9. 14:28)** _

_**Put down the pen you are chewing on and come to my office, mon lapin. You can nibble on something else much better than that. And I say that you must have dinner with me tonight. It is only fair after all. You have been teasing me with those looks you cast towards me every ten minutes.** _

_**Bonnefoy** _

x

_**Message to: Kirkland (Mon, Jan 9. 16:47)** _

_**Oh, you are a truly heartless bastard, Arthur. To tease me like this by pretending to be disinterested and cold whenever I approach you yet you look my way when I am afar. You are quite the character. I must acquire you, mon cher.** _

_**Bonnefoy** _

Arthur signed out of his email with a quick click of his mouse and he stood to hurriedly gather his belongings. If he was quick enough, he could leave the building whilst Francis was still in his meeting. Yes, that was a sound plan. He would avoid what seemed to be the fourth attempt by his boss had tried to corner and talk him into agreeing to go on ridiculous dinner with him. Uttering a hasty goodbye to Yao who replied with a grunt around some dubious looking snack as he was making his way back to the meeting room with some folders, Arthur skipped to the elevator with a elevating sense of accomplishment. Yes! The meeting was still on! He can finally go home without bumping into Francis. Good, good. Things were finally looking up. He waited for the lift alongside a few chattering co-workers, casting them a few polite nods as he tapped his foot impatiently.

_Come on._

The elevator doors slid open and in a clumsy succession of steps, Arthur had barrelled his way in without realising just who he had catapulted himself against. A pair of hands reached up to steady him by the shoulders before any collateral damage had been done and a smooth voice rumbled above him, sounding perversely pleased.

"Excited again, Arthur?"

Bollocks. It seemed evident that some form of higher power truly hated him and that it was undoubtedly orchestrating these series of events for its own entertainment.

Fighting off the growing blush on his face because he could feel the eyes of elevator occupants on him, Arthur straightened his back and he forced himself to stay cool and composed, giving Francis a poor attempt at a smile before he stood stiff and still, patiently waiting for the elevator ride down to be over.

The moment the elevator reached the ground floor, Arthur pushed his way past the throng of people and he hurriedly made his way out of the building, his hands slipping into the pockets of his coat for warmth. There was still a considerable amount of snow on the street in spite of having none fall the past week yet that didn't mean the conditions had ceased to be 'treacherous'. It was still slippery due to ice and Arthur had already seen far too many people slipping down the street since the first fall of snow. He himself had slipped rather spectacularly in the past (and that, embarrassingly enough, had been caught live on the news though he was thankful that his face had been blurred out) but fortunately he had not this year and he was determined to keep it that way as a personal record.

Nodding to himself, he then went around the corner and allowed his feet to take him down his usual route without a thought.

"Oh, Feliks is back from his Europe trip now, isn't he?" he muttered to himself, suddenly remembering the text message Kiku had sent him this morning about gathering at their usual bar this evening. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips. Well, perhaps it was about time he met up with his rat pack of friends after all. As much as he wouldn't like to admit it, he did miss hanging around them. It felt a little empty without their usual annual drink fest this year, what with each of them being busy with their own affairs.

He stopped at the traffic lights and just as he was about to press the pedestrian button, someone beat him to it. "Ah, thank you…" Arthur said and he glanced up in politeness, only to blanch when he realised that it was Francis who stood beside him, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

Even against the white-grey backdrop of winter did the man still look as suave and refined as he always had back in the office.

Noting the flabbergasted look on Arthur's face, Francis flashed him a charming little smile. " _Salut_ ," he greeted in an overly familiar tone.

"Don't _salut_ me," Arthur huffed, his eyes searching his boss's face in incredulousness. "What are you doing here? You…you have a fancy car. The one you take people home with…what are you doing all the way out here, in Regent Street no less?" And then it hit him. "Fuck, you really are following me, aren't you?"

The pedestrian light turned green and then, gently grasping Arthur by the elbow, Francis towed him along and continued his way down the crowded street, in spite of the indignant squawk Arthur had made. "Nothing of the sort, mon cher. I am simply heading the same way," he said with a blithe disregard at Arthur's attempt to loosen his grip. "Oxford Circus is it?"

After carelessly bumping into people in his haste to free himself (which earned him dirty looks and nasty expletives) Arthur grudgingly trudged through black ice behind his boss, Francis's warm hand still clasp around his arm with a firmness which oozed with confidence and it burned through the layers of his clothes. He scowled at this, feeling somewhat small and insignificant within the presence of this man. God, even when walking, Francis was able to make heads turn. _It must be nice to have such fetching looks_ , he thought bitterly.

With the long strides Francis's legs took and Arthur trotting after him, it didn't take long for them to reach the underground and pass through the gates. Arthur was actually surprised that Francis even owned an Oyster card.

"Why, just because I have a car does not mean I do not like to travel by foot," he grinned, the rush of air from the incoming train had caused his hair to fall attractively across his face.

Arthur tried to ignore this, avoiding those dazzling blue eyes as he quickly boarded the packed train. In an effort to be situated in a space which was further away from Francis, he tried to repeat his earlier tactic of simply barrelling through to fight for space. It was in vain however (like before, it won him nothing but dirty looks and swear words) and Arthur was very displeased to find himself squashed against the door with Francis, who looked rather gleeful, standing far too close to him. It irked him how their legs would occasionally bump into each other with every twist and turn the train made as it sped through the darkness. With a small sigh, Arthur had resorted to stare at his shoes, grimacing at the sight of melted snow dripping off them. No matter, it gave him something to do.

"Arthur," Francis had suddenly called out and somehow his mouth was right next to his ear.

He tensed at this, his skin crawling at the how the man's breath wisped across the tip of his ear. "Mr. Bonnefoy," he breathed. Strangely, his voice shook as he said this and he glanced up, clearing his throat. "Mr. Bo-"

The train suddenly jerked around a corner, eliciting a few surprised cries from the flailing pedestrians around them and that was it. Right there. An opportunity had presented itself and Francis did not hesitate to take it. With a slight quirk of his lips, Francis leaned forward and he closed the scarce proximity between them, his hand coming up to clasp around the bright red hand grip beside Arthur's arm.

Arthur gasped and upon acting on instinct, he shoved at his boss's chest. "What are you doing?" he hissed as he felt himself grow increasing flustered as Francis's body was pressed against his. "St-Stop that! We're in _public_ for god's sake-!"

"Francis."

Arthur blinked stupidly. "Wh-What?"

"Francis, Arthur," his boss leaned in closer to speak softly into his ear, his stubble brushing across Arthur's cheekbone fleetingly. "Call me Francis."

Arthur held back a shudder and he gave another push to the man's chest. "What? Don't be daft. Why should…I can't do such a thing. It's not-"

"We're outside the office. It's perfectly fine, _Arthur_."

Arthur cringed at how Francis's voice had become low and sultry, at how he had that ridiculous fluid-like quality to his enunciation, at how he easily rolled his unimpressive and dreadfully plain name around his tongue as if he was sucking on some delectable candy.

"No, it's not fucking fine, Mr. Bonnefoy," he reasoned, a little glad that Francis couldn't see his face. It was likely to be beetroot red by now. "Now that we've established that, will you please stop _grinding_ -"

The train was finally slowing down. After giving one last push to Francis's chest, Arthur had successfully slipped away from him, much to the man's displeasure. "Well, this is my stop. I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Bonnefoy," said Arthur in a huff, turning to face the doors. Sure enough the train slowed down and the moment the doors slid open, Arthur leapt across the gap and he pushed his way past the wall of people who moved to board the train. For a moment, Arthur was certain that Francis would tail after him but he was surprised to see that the man had remained on the train, his hand raised up to wave him a goodbye. Arthur stared at him with mixed feelings, his own hand rising up to reciprocate with an awkwardly executed wave. Strangely enough, in spite of how he eager he had been to get away from Francis, Arthur had remained rooted to the spot regardless of how some people had bumped against him as they rushed past and he watched his boss smile through the glass as the doors finally slid shut and the train pulled out of Bond Street station.

Arthur blinked, snapping out of his reverie.

Wait, Bond Street? Not Leicester Square?

Arthur stared at the sign in disbelief and indeed there, in large blinking bold letters flashing across an overhead signboard, was the word 'Bond Street'.

Apparently he had gotten off on the wrong stop and had rode on the wrong line. That was two pounds gone and wasted.

"…shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are wondering, Arthur was heading to Leicester Square (for the reunion thing with his friends) from Broadwick Street in London. I had chosen this area for Elixir because this street is where Cosmopolitan's HQ is currently at (and I'm too lazy to find another good place in London – sorry!). And so to get to Leicester Square, one would need to take the tube from either Oxford Circus Station or just walk all the way there by foot (which would take around 15-20 minutes maybe, depending on your speed).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where we meet Arthur's 'Shazzer', 'Jude' and 'Tom'. And it's Francis, not Mr. Bonnefoy.

" _Kesesesese_! What the fuck do you call this? You're late! But that's fucking awesome because you're paying for all our drinks!" a loud, gravelly voice yelled from their usual seats in the usually packed _Pix_ bar. With his chin resting against the palm of his hand, Ludwig's half-brother Gilbert was grinning wickedly at him as he raised his pint of beer up into the air with a whoop of delight. Sitting opposite him was Feliks, who turned in his seat and waved enthusiastically at him, looking rather perky in spite of having just flown in the day before. That or it could have been his makeup giving off that illusion. Huh, perhaps the latter.

"Arthur, like, seriously? I came back from, like, the heartland and you show up fashionably late looking like that? Like, oh my god, why are you wearing such ugly colours? You look like you just wandered out of Rocky Horror. Like, totally not cool because you don't have the makeup and corsets and stuff," Feliks chastised with a flick of his blonde hair and a playful smile on his lips. Gilbert cackled at this and in his amusement, his flailing hand had knocked Kiku's drink over though this went unnoticed by the Japanese man who watched Arthur with a look of concern etched on his (ridiculously, might Arthur stress) youthful features.

With a scowl, Arthur slouched his way over to where his friends were seated, though his expression softened a little when Kiku made some room for him to sit. "Well, I wouldn't have been late if it weren't for you lot changing the venue at the very last minute," he huffed, casting a pointed look towards Gilbert who grinned wickedly over the rim of his beer bottle. Sidling up beside Kiku, he peeled his coat off, grumbling. "Of all places, why did you have to pick _Pix_? I had to walk all the way here from Leicester Square."

Kiku looked rather apologetic at this whilst Feliks simply twirled a strand of his lush, blonde hair. Arthur deepened his scowl. Why was everyone around him showing off their pretty hair lately?

"Fucking awesome beer is why," came the simple answer from Gilbert.

"Shove off. Why the fuck do I have to pay for your drinks?"

"Why? _Kesesese_! It's because the fucking awesome Prussian says so!" Gilbert proclaimed as he slammed his bottle on the surface of the table, looking far too amused.

Arthur scrunched his nose up in distaste. "Oh, sod off."

Once again, Gilbert opted to laugh in that gratingly obnoxious manner of his, his white hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the bar. Wait, _white_? Arthur gaped at the shock of white tufts. Upon noticing the direction of Arthur's eyes, Gilbert smirked. "Like what you see?" he said, his hand rising up to rake his fingers through them flauntingly.

Arthur couldn't keep his eyes off the bold hair colour. "Your hair was platinum blonde. Why in devil's name have you made it fucking white now?"

Gilbert shrugged, looking smug. "Hey, my fans are so totally digging my awesome new look. Have you seen how many comments and retweets I've been getting on my blog and Twitter? Plus," he extended an arm out and wrapped it around Kiku's shoulders in order to pull him into an awkward hug (much to Kiku's obvious discomfort). "Keeks is so fucking awesome because he was the one who did it for me. And you know what? Maybe he can bleach those stupid eyebrows of yours so you don't need to hide them anymore."

Kiku visibly paled at this and he stumbled over his words for a moment, trying to muster up an apology on Gilbert's behalf yet he failed to do so when the Prussian suddenly leaned back in his seat as he threw his head back and laughed, dragging the poor man along with him.

Feliks lowered his cocktail, his eyes widening as a scandalised look appeared on his face. "Gilbert! Like, oh my god, you can't just say that to poor Arthur, you prick. Oh don't listen to that clod, he's just, like, totally jealous. Your eyebrows are lovely."

Arthur grunted in response, giving Feliks a paltry wave to show that no offense had been taken, but that didn't stop his hand from reaching up to flatten his bangs over his brows in an act of self-consciousness.

Catching this, Feliks cast him a small smile and before he could reach over and touch Arthur's hand with those ridiculously manicured fingers, Gillbert finally released Kiku from his grasp in order to fish out his iPhone from his jeans. "Mein gott, this is totally going on my twitter. 'Hey jerks, my awesome pal Arthur was so fucking late today that he's decided to be so awesome and buy us a round of drinks to make up for it'…" Gilbert raised his smartphone and he took a quick snapshot of the plethora of beer bottles and cocktail glasses which were scattered across the table. " _Kesese_! 'Wouldn't it be awesome if I was so fucking pissed and I did a show on air. Wonder what sort of awesome shit I'd say, eh?' Tweet."

Arthur watched in partial interest as his friend reached up to adjust the collar of his polo shirt, his pale face dusted with a light pink flush from the beer. Not too far from the appliqué on his shirt was a small yellow bird pin attached. Arthur cocked his brow, noticing the familiar cartoon character. Now that he thought about it, Gilbert had always had a peculiar fondness for that character (a Japanese mascot of sorts, if he was not mistaken) since their university days when he, Gilbert and Kiku had taken the same course together. That said, now that he thought back on it, Gilbert had hosted his own unorthodox yet strangely popular radio show back then (really, how can anyone stand that grating cackle of his and him saying the word 'awesome' in every fucking sentence without miraculously wearing it out?) so it was no surprise the man was now working as a Radio DJ for one of the top stations in London. Although Arthur was not particularly fond of Gilbert's extroverted personality, he couldn't help but feel a little envious of the brazen self-assurance and confidence which followed the bastard like a cloud. It was a far cry from the suaveness which simply ebbed from Francis but-

"Ah, please excuse me, I had almost forgotten. I have some gifts from Japan," Kiku's voice slit through his thoughts, low and soothing and only very slightly accented in spite of the fact that the man had learnt English for about ten years or so. No matter how much Kiku had rejected the idea, it was rather obvious how the man was nothing but a goddamn prodigy. It was strange how he had chosen to pursue a profession of teaching _Japanese_ in university rather than something spectacular and related to his English major. Why, he could have easily surpassed Yao in Elixir and become a top columnist or a novelist or something. Huh. It was funny how the boat of life could ebb its way down unpredictable waters.

Arthur turned to look at him, watching Kiku reach into his messenger bag to draw out an iPhone case which was in the shape of that familiar yellow bird before he presented to Gilbert (who beamed at this and gave an overly affectionate ruffle to his hair), a Japanese fashion book to Feliks (who squealed and almost knocked over all of their drinks in a fit of excitement) and a box of high quality green tea for himself. Arthur smiled sheepishly at Kiku, nodding in thanks. "You really shouldn't. I don't have a specific occasion to enjoy a cup of this," he murmured but Kiku waved his hand at this and insisted that he must take it because it was no secret that Arthur was quite the tea connoisseur. Arthur flushed at this but he accepted the tea nevertheless.

"Oh ya, like, you know when I was in Europe? I was, like, _soooo busy_ with meetings, like, you _cannot_ imagine. Like, ugh. I thought having two weeks in Europe would be totally fab because of the wedding dress fashion showcase and all but, like, can you imagine just how so freaking annoying and tiring it is to wake up at, like, five in the morning every single day. I mean, like, I need my beauty sleep, and _ugh_ , you can totally see the ugly bags under my eyes," Feliks suddenly bemoaned, gesticulating towards the soft skin beneath his eyes. Not that Arthur could see any imperfections. Feliks was one of those people who went to such ridiculous lengths to look after his face after all. Upon noticing the unconvinced look on Arthur's face, Feliks released a dramatic sigh before he suddenly turned his attention to Kiku and he reached over to clasp the man's face in his hands.

Kiku blinked at him from across the table, looking rather stunned. Upon noticing the sudden stillness which came over the Japanese man's form, Gilbert glanced up from his iPhone (which was now wearing the yellow bird case) as Arthur sat by idly to watch the peculiar scene that was about to unfold before him.

After a contemplative moment, Kiku finally spoke. "…Feliks-sa-"

"God, why do you have beautiful skin? Like, that is _sooo_ not fair, Kiku. You had botox didn't you? No? A face lift! You had a face lift, didn't you?"

"…I only eat salt and fish."

"Oh, you bitch."

Kiku blinked and it was only after a few seconds did his entire face turn bright red. He was at a loss for words, seeming rather troubled by the sudden accusation which he had been impaled with before he turned to Gilbert for help, who (much to his accumulating distress) simply took a swig of his beer with an amused smirk.

"Terrorising Kiku about his skin won't do you any good, Feliks. Your skin is already nice as it always had been," said Arthur, deciding to step in, with a small resigned sigh. He waved off the small grateful bow which Kiku sent to him, still finding the man's ingrained politeness amusing after all these years.

"Like, whatever," Feliks pouted at this but he seemed rather pleased at the compliment and sat back in his seat to sip his drink. After dropping into a small pause, his eyes suddenly lit up and he fastened his attention onto Arthur. "Oh right, like, where's your girlfriend? The one you're so loved up with? Did you not, like, invite her or something?"

Gilbert perked up at this, a wicked grin growing on his thin lips as he jutted the mouth of his beer bottle towards his direction. "Ja, where is she? What, you don't you wanna introduce your dame to the awesomeness that is me? Ceh, so not awesome man."

Fidgeting in his seat, Arthur reached for a drink to hide his discomfort. "No, nothing like that. We've split up."

" _What_? But you said she was your type!" Feliks said shrilly, looking positively upset at this and Arthur couldn't hide the small frown which climbed on his lips. It was almost as if Feliks was saying he was the one at fault.

"Yes, well, _she_ was the one who-" he had started off defensively when Gilbert slammed his beer bottle onto the table.

"Well, what the fuck are you waiting for? This is your lucky night, you bastard!" he bellowed with a slight slur. " _Pix_ has a whole selection of pretty gals tonight! Fuck relationships, they're so not awesome. Take it from me, Brit, one night stands are like _the_ awesome shit, ya hear? No emotional fuckups, no strings attached, no mess, just awesome rollercoaster sex."

"Ugh, Gilbert! That is, like, no way to live! A man, like, _has_ to have and enjoy an honest, beautiful relationship! Like, Toris is so _totally_ like that!" Feliks piped up, his nose scrunched up in disgust.

"Yeah? Well, he's obviously missing out."

"He definitely is _not_! If anything, we are at, like, the very pinnacle of happiness!"

"Pish! Happy and constraint, more like! Who wants to have their phones harassed with stupid sappy crap all the time? Being single is way awesome, eh, don't you agree Keeks?"

Kiku looked hesitant to answer.

"See? Way awesome."

" _What_? He didn't even, like, say anything! Ugh, you know, like, shut up. I am not having any of this," Feliks snapped, raising his hand up to wave Gilbert off before he turned to Arthur, who was staring at the glass of Pimm's he had helped himself to with a calculative look. "Like, seriously, this is like umpteenth time you, like, broke up with someone. Are you sure you're, like, not gay? Like, positively?"

"Feliks, that's…" Kiku gaped at him in astonishment as the man in question simply shrugged, obviously trying to ignore the stupid grin which stretched across Gilbert's lips.

"Hey, you never know. Like, not everyone looks obviously gay. That is, like, so last century."

Arthur's mouth dropped open in disbelief. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It took him a moment to gather his wits before a sardonic laugh bubbled from him. "What? No, wait. Hang on, just what are you trying to say, Feliks? That I've been attracted to the wrong sex all this time? That all my life I'm not interested in tits and fannies, but cocks and bums? Hah! You're having a laugh! You can't be serious!" he said.

For a moment there, Feliks looked a little disappointed. "Like, yeah? With how you keep breaking up with girls so quickly, it shows how something is, like, seriously wrong. It's almost as if you're totally not into them."

"But I am. I love breasts, for fuck's sake," Arthur said stubbornly. Funnily enough, the image of Francis on the tube bloomed in his mind then, of him smiling and waving and looking ridiculously cool as the train pulled out of Bond Street station. It had made his chest throb a little, that smile. He frowned at this, deciding to think back to the incidents which had occurred over the past few days. The obvious flirtation. The wordplay, the emails, the looks cast towards him. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't felt as disgusted and offended as he thought he had ought to be. That was unusual. Very, very unusual. "I love breasts. Tits are lovely. Tits are wonderful creations which ought to be cherished," he repeated once more, almost as if to reassure himself.

"Yeah, like, I totally get that. But then, like, maybe you've just come to realise that _maybe_ yo-"

"Schwul, why the fuck are you not being awesome?" Gilbert interrupted with a slur as he gracelessly leaned over Kiku in order to grab at Arthur's arm and shake him. "Drink! Why aren't you drinking? Get that Brit luck of yours up and running and get laid, dickhead!"

Arthur shoved his hand away. "Piss off, I'm watching my units."

" _Kesesese_! What are you, a fucking girl? Wichser, drink up and be awesome with me! C'mon! We drink to fuck! Or are you too sissy, eh? What, that last girl broke it off because you don't have balls? _Kesee_! Y'hear that Keeks? He ain't got balls! Verdammt! You're fucking awesome, Brit!"

Squaring his shoulders with a newfound resolve fuelled by indignation, Arthur reached over for the glass of Pimm's and he downed it all one go, savouring the familiar burn down his throat. Slamming his glass on the table with much force than he'd have liked to (it wasn't gentlemanly of him, after all), he glared at Gilbert. "Fucking wanker. Sod it, you're on."

 

* * *

 

It took him a while to reach his desk, dragging his feet across the carpet with a slight wobble in spite of how much effort he had put in to stay as upright as he possibly could. The phantom weight which had settled on his head and shoulders ever since he had stumbled out of bed that morning was making it hard for him to walk in a straight line. The room tilted much further than he liked and the incessant ringing of telephones as well as the chattering of people around him was making him increasingly irritable with each passing moment. Upon spotting Yao make his way down a corridor which led towards the another department, Arthur slipped into the editorial wing in a set of sluggish movements before he finally plopped down onto his seat in a rather graceless manner. It was good thing his brain was smart enough to instruct his lethargic body to right his balance in his chair or else he'd have toppled out of it. That would be quite an embarrassing spectacle. Arthur nodded to himself, applauding himself for behaving.

Right. And now, to ignore everyone (not that anyone paid any attention to him in the first place – he wasn't that interesting after all) and everything around him for the next-

"Bonjour. Ça va mon chou?"

Arthur bit back a groan and he ran his fingers through his unkempt hair.

Of all people to speak to first thing in the morning, _why him_?

Ignoring the itch in his chest and the strange initial urge to quickly glance up into his boss's face, he kept his gaze trained on the small yellow bird paperweight (Kohtoh-something or what's it name – only Gilbert could remember foreign names so easily, even when he was drunk for that matter) which Kiku had given him last Christmas. Perhaps doing so would make him look somewhat intelligent and alert and definitely not hungover in front of Francis so that the man would just leave him be. ' _Yes, let's simply stare at that bird shall we?_ ' he thought.

However, rather than pick up the idea that Arthur was not in the mood to cook up a conversation, Francis had decided to take the liberty of leaning against Arthur's desk before he tilted his head in order to peer up into his face and catch his eyes. "Ohon, already playing hard to get? Aren't you playful…you're looking very sexy today, Arthur," he purred. "What is that word you call? Bedraggled, yes? It is like you had wandered out of the bedroom just to tease me with those eyes. Well now, I take it you had a good night?"

It might have been the after effects of the alcohol in his system or perhaps the maddening non-stop pounding in his head or it could have been because of the fact that he had woken up on the floor of his kitchen with a bruised elbow and a shirt which was stained with some unidentifiable substance (he couldn't really remember what had happened the night before apart from a few fuzzy images of a very pretty girl, his friends and dirty red shoes). Whatever it was, it made Arthur lift his face to meet Francis's gaze with a scowl. "Yes, it was a _very_ good night if you must know sir, thank you," he found himself snapping at him, perhaps a little too harshly.

There was a surprised look on Francis's face and Arthur lowered his gaze back to the paperweight, staring at it in slight shame as he ran his hand through his hair once more with an exasperated sigh. "…sorry. I didn't mean to…I mean, well, it's not tha-"

"Francis," Yao's voice (which sounded far too loud and screechy like a banshee to Arthur at that moment then) rang throughout the office and it didn't take long for the Chinese man to reach his desk in spite of the bastard having short legs. "Mr. Romulus is calling for you in the board room…" he trailed off, noticing the unnatural tenseness in the air and he glanced between them. "Am I interrupting?"

"Well-"

"No, no. Sorry, please don't let me hold you up Mr. Bonnefoy," Arthur said curtly just as Francis glanced over to his direction. "I was just about to send over the minutes from yesterday's meeting anyway."

"Eh, I thought you sent them already? _Aiyaa_ , you English are so laidback. No wonder you're still in your position after two years. Go, go. I'm sure Suzie is still mad at you, anyway. Well, shall we Francis?" Yao said with touch of impatience in his tone though this went unnoticed by their boss as he looked at Arthur with such intensity. If it were any other day, Arthur would have told him off for doing such a thing in the office but today was different. He felt far too sluggish, far too irritable and far too _hungover_ to uphold some sense of propriety in this conversation, let alone pick up the lack of respect Yao obviously had towards him regardless of the fact that Francis was present. Huh. Arthur shook his head a little and he scowled at how heavy it felt, almost as if it was made of lead. It was a wonder that his head was still attached to his body.

"In a minute, Yao. There is something I would like to discuss with Arthur."

"No, there is nothing to discuss. I believe we all have our own duties to attend to, _sir_. So-"

"Francis, Arthur. Please, everyone calls me Francis," his boss interjected. There was a frown on his handsome face.

"Yes, well, I'm not everyone now, am I?" Arthur retorted. Ah fuck it, he was far too prickly this morning.

If Yao had noticed something was off, he simply ignored it with a shrug before he turned on his heel to make his way out of the editorial wing. "Whenever you are ready, Francis," he called over his shoulder. "You remember that Mr. Romulus does not like to be kept waiting so don't blame me if he's in a bad mood."

Muttering what was presumably a curse under his breath, Francis released a heavy sigh before he finally retreated from his position against the desk, his hand reaching out to brush across the back of Arthur's hand as he stood upright.

Startled by the sudden contact, Arthur retracted his hand quickly, almost as if from a burn, before he glanced up into the man's face in spite of how much effort he had put in to suppress it, Arthur could not stop the shudder which ran down his spine at the fleeting touch.

"Á plus tard," was all what Francis had simply said to him with that same small smile he had given him back in Bond Street Station yesterday, before he finally turned on his heel and left the room.

Arthur watched his boss's retreating back. The previous irritation which had been tugging at his very being had now dissipated and a new yet strangely alien emotion had now filled in that void to replace it.

It was frustration.

 

* * *

 

"Arthur."

He looked up from his desk to see Francis, looking slightly flushed in the cheeks, as he made his way towards him in quick strides with those long legs of his. Arthur pushed his blank notepad and his fifth cup of coffee to the side, trying his best to maintain a straight face in front of his boss. In spite of being seated at his desk for most of day, he hadn't gotten any work done regardless of the pile of folders which Yao had unceremoniously dumped on his desk before he left on another 'emergency'. Although his hangover was already gone, he pursed his lips into a thin line to hide the look of escalating annoyance on his face as he rose from his seat to greet his boss in a more respectable manner that he had this morning.

"Mr. Bonnefoy," he answered in a stilted voice, raising his brow as the man reached over to collect a few files from Yao's desk before he turned to him with a small smile. "…sir?"

"Pardon avec moi, mon cher," he started off rather flippantly which had Arthur frowning in disapproval. "This is rather unusual but I am afraid I will need to ask you to give me a little bit of your time. I need your assistance with…well, une crise."

Arthur blinked, taken aback by the unexpected request. "But what about Yao?"

Francis gave him an amused look. "What about him? Ah…you are dating him? _Well now_ , I didn't think you'd-"

"Wha-! M-Mr. Bonnefoy! Just what are you-!" he hissed, eyes wide in shock. For some reason, at that moment then, the image of Feliks had suddenly popped into his mind in surprising clarity, his words from the night before echoing through his head like some outrageously catchy tune which refused to leave. What, did Francis think he was a poof as well? Was this the underlying reason why all the women he had dated in the past dumped him? Because they all thought he was gay? Bollocks! He was 'wild boy' Arthur fucking Kirkland! He once had a reputation of using women as if they were fucking disposable cameras, for god's sake!

"Oh? Am I incorrect?"

"Incorrect? Mr. Bonnefoy, you just _assumed_ -!"

"Francis, Arthur. Francis."

" _Mr. Bonnefoy_ , don't even _think_ -!"

"Oh, we really must get going if we are to reach there in time," Francis interrupted, glancing at his wristwatch before he cast Arthur a smile. "I will wait for you downstairs in the lobby then. Bring all your things. I am not sure how long the session will take."

"Wait a minute, hold on. Just what am _I_ supposed to…" Arthur watched in dismay as his boss left the room and with an exasperated sigh, he gathered his belongings and pulled on his coat before he quickly chased after him. Although he was thoroughly confused by the sudden request for help from Francis (he was nothing but an editorial assistant after all) he couldn't help but feel a little flattered, perhaps even somewhat glad to be the only one not doing anything in the office that day. That he happened to be the one who was being relied on by Francis. He felt important funnily enough and for once in his life, he actually felt the urge to perform well in his job.

He met with up Francis inside the lift, just as the doors were sliding shut and he had managed to hop in on time. After releasing a heavy sigh, Arthur glanced up to see Francis looking at him with those dazzling eyes, the dark blue hues gleaming with mirth under the fluorescent light of the elevator. "That was quick. Were you afraid that I might leave you behind?" Francis chuckled.

Arthur rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Of course not. I just don't want to waste time," he said and it was only then did he realise that it was just the two of them inside the lift.

"Yours or mine?" Francis asked without missing a beat and that made Arthur raise his brow.

"Does it really matter?"

"Perhaps not."

Arthur stared at him. What was that supposed to mean?

The elevator ride seemed far too short for Arthur's liking as the doors soon slid open and Francis quickly stepped out before he could speak. Clicking his tongue in slight annoyance, Arthur hopped out of the car to follow suit before he cast a quick glance to the clock which hung above the receptionist's desk. About an hour until office hours ends. It was no wonder Francis asked him to bring all his belongings. He followed after his boss out of the building, hoisting his messenger bag across his shoulder a little more comfortably as he trailed after Francis, crossing the street to where a sleek black two-seater Audi waited and gleamed proudly against the bleak white-grey backdrop of Broadwick Street.

Arthur stopped in his tracks and he stared at Francis, who had coolly unlocked his vehicle and opened the passenger door open for _him_. "What are you doing?" he asked with a slight edge to his voice, finding slight offense in the gallantness of his action.

"I do not want to waste time," Francis said and he smiled cheekily at how he had used Arthur's own words against him. "Now, will you get in or will I have to tell the printing house that you were the cause of our delay?"

Arthur flushed red at this but he grudgingly complied nonetheless, albeit a little stiffly, frowning at how Francis had gently closed the door after him. It was almost as if the man was treating him like a woman on her first date. His frown deepened. That was absurd. It wasn't as if Francis was really _that_ into him, anyway. It didn't take long for Francis to climb into the driver's seat and after revving up the engine, he soon pulled out into the street before joining the cars which were lined up along Regent Street. "Seatbelt, mon chou. We don't want any accidents now, yes?" he said with a small wink.

"You know, I'd really appreciate it if you stopped calling me too many strange names," Arthur grumbled as he fastened his safety belt on and kept his eyes on the congested street before them. He fidgeted in the leather seat, unable to relax as he was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that Francis was far too close to him. Granted that this wasn't the first time they were alone together but it was one thing being in office with Francis while sitting in a car with him was an entirely different matter. There was no place to run, no room to make plausible excuses to escape.

"Oh? Does the name chou displease you? I thought it suits you very well."

"What, vegetable?"

"No no, vegetable is légume. Cabbage is chou."

"It's the same thing. It's not very flattering now, is it? To call someone cabbage. It's almost derogatory."

"N'importe quoi! Oh Arthur you think too negatively. In French, to be called chou is very special! C'est une déclaration d'amour!" Francis trilled as he glanced over to him with a small flirtatious smile, steering his car smoothly into the right lane which led up to Piccadilly Circus.

Arthur's brows furrowed as he kept his eyes trained on a particular advertisement which was plastered across the side of a double-decker bus. It said 'Some people are gay. Get over it.'

"You can't be serious," he muttered.

"Hm? You question my feelings?"

"No, I was just-" Arthur began, raising his hand to gesticulate towards the bus when he stopped short upon realising what he had inadvertently implied. His eyes widened in alarm. "Wait, no, I didn't mean-"

"Comment vont tes amours?" Francis suddenly asked as he took a turn towards Leicester Square once the cars in their lane began to move.

"Now wait just a tick there, Mr. Bonnefoy-"

"Francis, mon chou."

"-With all due respect, Mr. Bonnefoy, although you are my boss, you certainly have no right whatsoever to start _prying_ into my personal life. Because I very well do not with yours," Arthur hissed tensely.

"Oh but you really don't need to, mon chou," said Francis. "You are already a part of it."

For some unfathomable reason, that day seemed to be a day of firsts because at that precise moment and after playing a game he hadn't known to be participating in up until now, Arthur had come to realise that he had been defeated by a bloody Frenchman. He was rendered absolutely speechless by the sudden declaration and after dropping a stupid pause (by which he spent those gruelling minutes groping for a clever comeback) he fidgeted in his seat and kept quiet, opting to brood on with thoughts which were fuelled with denial.

Francis, on the other hand, simply carried on driving with a debonair smile.

 

* * *

 

After casting a few awkward smiles to the hotel guests who leisurely strolled past him, Arthur quickly made his way over to where Francis stood waiting and he grabbed him by the arm, squeezing it harshly. "You cheat! You deceived me!" mouthed Arthur, once he deemed themselves to be out of earshot from the wealthy patrons and the set of crisply dressed bellboys who swept through the lobby like electronically charged toy soldiers, pushing their respective trolleys full of luggage along.

"Non," Francis chuckled, looking far too amused for Arthur's liking as he reached up to tap the side of his nose. "J'ai du nez."

"Wha…you said we were going to the printing house, not the fucking _Savoy_."

"Yes, I apologise for that, but they can wait another day. Now, we eat. I have promised to take you out for dinner, after all," said Francis, not looking sorry at all as he slipped out of Arthur's vice grip to make his way deeper into the hotel.

Arthur stared after him, looking positively livid and disorientated at the same time by the blithe disregard Francis had towards his discomfort of feeling very out of place in this establishment. "Mr. Bonnefoy!" he hissed, cringing at how unexpectedly loud his voice was as it drew the attention of a few guests who were sitting not too far from where he stood. He gave them a sheepish look, bobbing his head ruefully before he turned to the direction of where his boss was walking and stiffly followed after him. This was unbelievable. To be inordinately seduced in the office at the promise of a dinner was one thing but to have been hauled off to a ridiculously expensive restaurant for said mere dinner without consent or reciprocating questionable feelings was just downright showy and daft. Was Francis really _that_ into _him_ to make him spend so much money on one dinner? No, the biggest question was _why_. Why was Francis Bonnefoy into him – dull, professionally stagnant and a man who has been doomed to be alone and caterpillar-browed for _life_ – in the first place anyway?

Spotting Francis standing by the stylishly chic entrance of the Savoy Grill, conversing with the waiter who stood by stiffly tucked in his immaculate uniform, Arthur quickened his steps."Mr. Bonnefoy, would you pleas- _oof_!"

Apparently, in his haste to convince his boss to drop the dinner entirely, he had accidently walked into someone who had been heading the same direction. Crap. "Oh god, sorry. I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking at where I was going," he immediately apologised with a bob of his head – a thing he had picked from Kiku without realising it.

"No, no, it's mine, really. I mean I space out a lot too so it's no big deal, man," came a distinctively airy voice and an all too (oddly) familiar rumble of a chuckle which followed after it. One which was pleasant yet decisively unpleasant at the same time.

Arthur blinked at this, puzzled with how his chest had tightened for some reason before he finally willed himself to lift his eyes to meet a pair of bright blue, blue ones.

Almost instantly, his mind flashed back to two weeks ago. To the Christmas reunion party hosted by Feliciano and Ludwig. To the sea of old, familiar faces. To the nine flutes of champagne. To that one exceptionally rude American who wore a too small jumper with a hideous alien motif.

Arthur's eyes widened as he stared up into the very face of said rude American in astonishment.

"You…what the fuck are you doing here?" he blurted out.

"Well, I'll be damned."

Rude American - Alvin was it? – was beaming at him and contrary to Arthur, he seemed rather delighted by the unexpected meeting. "Howdy there, Austin. It's been a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notes!
> 
> (1) About Gilbert's hair. I am well aware of how some people portrayed him as (and I use this term loosely) an 'albino' but I am not particularly fond of this idea because he isn't. I am more attracted to the concept of him having platinum blonde hair. But having said that, I couldn't resist the idea of him dyeing his own hair to an 'icy white' colour simply because he is just that awesome. So yes, here, have a white-haired Gilbert everyone. 
> 
> (2) If you hadn't guessed it, the little yellow bird mascot which Gilbert adores is Kotori (or Gilbird, as many western fans call him)! Think of Kotori as that world's 'Rilakkuma' or 'Hello Kitty' – and like Rilakkuma, Kotori is a huge thing in Asia but not so well known in the West (unless you're a huge fan of Asian 'kawaii' things) so Gilbert gets his merchandise through Kiku.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where he goes on that dinner and then meets that dude he's not incredibly fond of and oh, there's wine.

One collision was all it took and his mind was hurled all the way back to that one memory, to that one and only Christmas reunion. To the sea of faces. To the nine flutes of champagne. To that one exceptionally, extraordinarily, exquisitely _rude_ American who wore a too small jumper with a decisively hideous alien motif.

If Arthur was to measure out the chances of meeting that man once more, he would have said that it was very, very, very slim because really, London was massive. What were the chances of bumping into that one particular man in the metropolis?

And yet, against all odds, here he was. That same man whom he had never wanted to meet again, standing in the flesh before him.

His heart stopped for one, two heartbeats and Arthur felt as if the carpet had been tugged from under his feet as he stumbled back a few steps and stared at the man, slack-jawed.

"You…what the fuck are you doing here?" he breathed.

"Well, I'll be damned." Those bright blue, blue eyes lit up and 'Alvin' was grinning very, very widely at him. "Howdy there, Austin. It's been a while."

Indeed it had been a while. In fact, it hadn't even reached one week to be exact. Of all times, _why now_? Arthur scowled at him and upon noticing the approximate space of two, three, four steps between them, he took a big step back to establish the comfortable distance between them. " _Austin_?" he echoed incredulously before huffing with his arms crossed in displeasure. "If I recall correctly, Alvin, I am pretty certain that my name is Arthur and not Austin."

"Yeah? Well, I ain't no Alvin neither. The name's always been Alfred F. Jones but y'know, if that's kinda hard to remember then I guess we'd have to settle with Al then," the American said with a wink. "Y'see, it's usually the ladies who call me by that name but I'll make an exception with you since you still got them cool caterpillars up there."

Arthur sputtered and he gawked at Alfred who was looking increasingly entertained by the fact that he was turning red in a span of a few short seconds. "Excuse _me_?"

"There you are. I was looking for you."

A small, dainty hand appeared from the side and placed itself on Alfred's elbow, rousing the man's attention. Arthur followed the arm and he was met with the sight of a pretty Asian woman. She was dressed smartly in a navy dress with her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. A quick glance between the two had Arthur quickly come to the assumption that these two were close and, much to his displeasure, the newfound fact made him feel a little uncomfortable.

 _Well fuck me_ , Arthur thought bitterly. _The bastard's got good taste_.

"Hm? Oh, hey," Alfred acknowledged with a blink of those blue, blue eyes before an easy grin lit up his boyish face. "Um, yeah. Sorry about that. I kinda wandered off and bumped into Archie here."

"Arthur," Arthur corrected the man with a sharp tut and when the woman glanced at him with her bright intelligent eyes, he lowered his gaze in embarrassment. It was perhaps good timing that Alfred had wisely (though that adjective was debatable) chosen that moment to laugh it off and shatter the awkwardness which rose up between the three of them. Accompanying that rumble of a laugh, Alfred gave Arthur a rough pat on his shoulder as an apologetic gesture.

"Arthur, yeah, that. But y'know, seriously man, you guys have weird names. Is it like a British thing or something?" he said in a poor attempt of a joke and Arthur was certain he had heard something similar to this somewhere before. Unamused, Arthur bristled at this and before he could open his mouth to retort, the woman beside him beat him to it with a tilt of her head. Alfred simply laughed and he threw her a sheepish look.

Seemingly accustomed to this, she let out a small sigh before she extended her hand out towards Arthur. "I'm sorry. Al tends to say ridiculous things like this but he really is a good person. I hope you could forgive him," she said in surprisingly good English, her words accompanied by a small rueful smile. Her voice was soft but firm and confident. "Hi, my name is Thien. Al and I work in the same in law firm."

A couple and they worked in the same field?

Arthur's mouth twitched as he returned her smile with a strained one.

Well that was fucking brilliant. That was a match made in heaven right there.

"O-Oh. I'm sorry, how awfully rude of me. I should have introduced myself. Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. Pleased to meet you," Arthur said, immediately accepting her hand the moment he snapped out of his snarky thoughts. Deciding to stick by the rules of social etiquette, he thought a little more before finally adding, "Alfred and I, we went to…well, we met each other through a mutual friend."

Huh. Mutual friend indeed. It was more like a friend whom you hadn't remembered his name.

When she released his hand, Arthur noticed that his hand tingled a little. Why, even her handshake was soft, firm and confident like her voice. The brief touch had left an impression on him and soon after, a great amount of respect towards this incredible woman rose within him. This woman was different from the women he had met in the past. Unlike Lauren or Belle, she was a different sort of beauty. Elegant, refined and cool. She was the complete polar opposite of Alfred and that was something Arthur found difficult to accept. Why, how was someone so half-assed and inconceivably rude as Alfred able to snag a beautiful, admirable woman like her? It just didn't add up, not to mention that it also made him sorely envious – which was very, very silly.

Unfortunately, his feelings seemed to be reflecting off his face then. He could feel it – the small throbbing in between his brows, the slight down curve of his lips. It took him a few seconds to realise this and when he did, he quickly slipped on a neutral expression on his face. If Thien had spotted it, she was probably sensible to overlook it if that small cryptic smile was anything to go by. With words left unspoken between them, she turned her head to look over to Alfred, who was watching them with an inscrutable expression on his face.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at this.

What's with that searching look?

For a moment, Arthur wondered if Alfred was the jealous type. He measured out a possibility that perhaps the sight of Thien talking to him (or even paying him a degree of attention) had ticked the American off and that alone gave Arthur a small sense of accomplishment. _'Ha! Well, that's what you get for being such a twat. It's no secret that women have flocked to me in the past, you know!'_ he thought smugly.

"Al?" Thien called out in a rather endearing accent, at the same time when a familiar smooth voice spoke.

"Arthur?"

Francis was walking towards them with an amiable smile on his face. Oh, that's right. He had forgotten about why and how he had come to be here in the first place. Alfred and Thien were both peering at Francis and the moment his boss joined them, he extended his hand out.

"Please excuse my intrusion. Francis Bonnefoy. It is lovely to meet you…?"

"O-Oh, yes, um, Mr. Bonnefoy, this is Thien – am I pronouncing it correctly? Yes? Oh that's good - and Ass-" Arthur swallowed back the insult and corrected himself. "Alfred. They both work as solicitors."

"A pleasure," Francis hummed, lifting Thien's hand to kiss it.

Arthur felt a small twinge in his chest as and it surprised him greatly. Well, sure, it was no secret that Francis was quite the charmer towards attractive folk but for some reason, witnessing Francis's cordial exchange struck him as oddly discomforting. He took a small step back as they exchanged a few pleasantries before Francis moved to shake Alfred's hand.

_Oh?_

It was only then did Arthur notice the small, strained look on Alfred's face.

The exchange between two men seemed polite and awkward yet for some reason Arthur couldn't shake off the feeling that something felt a little off. He was certain that there was an unmistakable glint of recognition in Alfred's eyes. Was there a possibility that he and Francis know each other?

"Pardon me, sirs. I apologise for the wait. I shall escort you to your table now," a waiter from Savoy Grill announced not too far them and that was all it took to break the tension in the air.

"Ah, well, please excuse us. It has been delightful to meet you, Monsieur, Mademoiselle," Francis declared with a charming quirk of his lips.

Thien returned the smile. "A pleasure."

"Yeah, same here," Alfred finally said after an uncomfortable pause before giving Arthur a sideways glance. "I'll see ya round then."

Arthur responded with a hesitant nod. He wasn't sure if that was a statement or a question. Casting a fleeting look towards the couple, Arthur felt an unsettling feeling wash over him as he clumped after Francis into the dimly lit and grand-looking dining room.

 

* * *

 

It had bothered him endlessly. The entire affair kept replaying over and over in his head and thus after a fourth glass of red wine and throwing furtive glances across the room to where Alfred and Thien were seated at a table with a group of people, Arthur had finally decided to muster the bravado to speak his mind.

"Say, Mr. Bonnefoy-"

"Ah ah ah. Have I not asked you to address me as Francis, mon chou? We are not at work as you can see."

Arthur snorted at the correction as he cut through the tender meat of his veal escalope. "It's hardly the location that bothers me, Mr. Bonnefoy. I just don't understand why you still insist on such a small thing," he retorted before taking a bite of the veal. He would be lying if he said that the veal wasn't delicious because it certainly was tender and beautifully seasoned. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he had the capability of imitating this seasonal dish back in the too-small kitchen of his too-small flat. A decisive nod and another bite later he figured that yes, perhaps he might. It couldn't hurt to try after all. If he was lucky, he might even serve it to a girl he'd meet in the future. If, being emphasised greatly.

Francis took a sip of his wine. "Why, it is very simple. It is to suit the nature of our relationship, of course."

"Huh. And what would that be?" asked Arthur, taking another bite as he stole another furtive glance at Alfred's table.

"Why, as potential lovers." It was said as if the most obvious thing in the world.

Startled by this unexpected declaration, Arthur made an unflattering sound and choked around his veal. He thumped at his chest to dislodge the meat and after several smacks, finally swallowed it down. "Sorry?" he croaked.

Francis leant back in his chair and oh was that smirk positively growing.

Embarrassed, Arthur glanced around them quickly to make sure that no one was listening in (or staring, for that matter) before he cast the man a disapproving look. "Mr. Bonnefoy-"

"You are a charming and very attractive man, Arthur."

It took a lot of effort for Arthur to not drop his fork at that. "Will you please stop that," he hissed. He could feel a flush of warmth spread across his cheeks and up to his ears.

"Stop what, mon chou?" Francis repeated in mock surprise. "I am merely providing you the truth. Is that not what you wanted to ask me?"

"What? O-Of course not! There was-no-wh-whatever gave you that ludicrous idea?" he sputtered. Relinquishing his grasp from the base of his fork in fear of doing something incredibly stupid and dangerous, Arthur had opted to seize the napkin on his lap and press it to his mouth, wiping it harshly. Oh god, his hands were starting to shake and he wasn't sure if that was from shock or outrage.

In stark contrast to Arthur's current state of confusion, Francis looked rather unperturbed by the extent of distress his words had brought to the Londoner. In fact, he was simply perched rather comfortably in his seat as he studied Arthur closely, his attractively shaped brows arching up in a blatant sign of interest. Arthur had to admit that he was starting to find it impossible to overlook such a detail now that his attention was placed on the chiselled features of that ridiculously handsome face. Really, it was like staring into the face of fucking Adonis. Arthur scowled behind his napkin and he swallowed down the uncomfortable lump which grew in his throat. It was perhaps by a stroke of luck that his brain had helpfully suggested that it was about time for a strategic shift of topic.

"If I were to be frank with you Mr. Bonnefoy, I'd say that I'd really appreciate it if you'd stopped teasing me about such things. If you really must know, I am straight," he found himself blurting the moment he lowered his napkin.

Okay. Perhaps that wasn't very strategic.

"So am I."

"What? No you're not. You're bi," asserted Arthur.

Francis looked rather surprised at this. "Oh?"

Oh.

Shit.

Arthur dropped his gaze to his veal and he pretended to take interest in it. "It's a fact. The whole office knows," he shrugged, trying to keep his tone light and matter-of-fact. To be honest, he needn't to justify his claim because it had been regarded as the truth. Although Arthur wasn't particularly sure as to when the rumour had actually started circulating around the office but he had heard enough anecdotes to gather a sense of unanimous agreement upon the fact that yes, Francis did go both ways and that yes, he truly was an undeniably good lover.

"And you believe this?" Francis enquired.

"Everyone does. What, aren't you going to deny?"

"No," the French man replied smoothly. "But you did not answer my question, mon chéri. Do you believe I am bisexual?"

Arthur wondered if the wine had already started to settle into his system because he was beginning to feel rather warm and uncomfortable in his seat. "Christ, why should I answer that?"

"Tell me Arthur, is sex very important to you?" Francis suddenly interjected with yet another question.

Arthur blinked owlishly at this and the moment Francis's words finally sank in, the napkin he had once been clutching so tightly in his lap slid to the floor in a muffled _flop_. "I…" he began slowly, his heartbeat stuttering for a second. His hand made its way to the collar of his dress shirt and he gave it a short tug. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid I don't understand where you're going with this. Why are you suddenly asking about my sex life?"

A pause was dropped between them.

And then Francis was tilting his head back as a warm hearty laugh erupted from him. Arthur, upon being entranced by the sound which reached his ears, was only able to stare at him in astonishment.

"Oh la la! Pardon avec moi, I meant sexual orientations, mon chou!" Francis corrected and his eyes were dancing with mirth. "I apologise for not being clear but…well, I believe we both can agree that someone has become rather bold this evening."

Arthur's mouth flapped open and close in disbelief for a few seconds before he finally pursed his lips into a tight line. "Don't be daft. It's the wine talking," he grumbled shamefacedly, fidgeting in his seat before he mumbled out an apology when his leg bumped against Francis's. When he moved his leg away however, Francis had inched his body forward and his knee brushed against Arthur's thigh. Arthur could feel the blush on his face grow as his heart leapt to his throat.

Since when had he gotten _so close_?

"Oh? I did not think you are one with low tolerance," Francis all but purred as he proceeded to refill their glasses with more red wine. "So the myth of the English being able to hold their liquor is false?"

"I'm not drunk," Arthur retorted, trying his best to remain composed. On impulse, he leant back in his chair as an effort to re-establish the dwindling barrier of the boss-subordinate relationship between them. Unfortunately this subtle move was overlooked by Francis as said man's leg was now shamelessly resting against Arthur's under the table. "I can hold my spirits far better than you bloody French can hold your…whatever," he added, his voice thick with discomfort.

Francis flashed a smirk at him. "Ah, so you say that the redness on your face is truly a blush for me? Oh la la la la! Tu es très mignon!"

God damn it, this man is impossible.

It truly didn't help that within Arthur's state of relative tipsiness (pfft who are you calling drunk? A few glasses is nothing), the debonairness which easily rolled off Francis seemed to increase a tenfold.

Arthur picked up his wine glass and he downed more than half of the drink down in one go. "Hmph, what makes you think I'm blushing? I'll admit that I am a little flushed but that's just because it's warm in here." A lie. It was the fucking Baltic in here, regardless of the heater being turned up since this winter was cold as fuck. It makes Arthur wonder how the female patrons were able to wear those flattering evening dresses without turning blue. "Honestly Mr. Bonnefoy, you're certainly full of yourself. Salving sweet words on others won't get you anywhere, you know. And neither will your comestible gifts."

"Oh? The Savoy is not to your palate?"

"No, quite the opposite. The food is fantastic and all, but you really should know that it's not going to win you any curry favours," Arthur stated as he circulated his glass to watch the wine slosh around a little. He took another sip, inwardly thankful that Francis had unwittingly gave him something meaningful to do. He couldn't fathom the extent his clumsiness if he were to wield his cutlery.

However, rather than become discouraged by his statement, Francis seemed to look positively pleased at his remark. "Well, curry favour may not be what I really seek for but you really cannot blame me for my efforts, mon chou. Why, your very being ignites the core of my soul with passion. If sitting in front of you like this makes me burn, I wonder what it would be like if you were to be under me. I feel that my heart would burst."

Arthur had just tilted his glass to his lips, only to curse when he failed to capture his drink and now a stain was found down the front of his shirt. However stain be damned because that wasn't important now. What shoved all his thoughts out and occupied his mind right there and then was…

"Please don't tell me that you've memorised all of that from a Mills and Boon romance."

Francis blinked. "Pardon?"

Arthur stood from his seat. "Excuse me for a moment. I need the bathroom."

With an awkward wave of his hand (he wasn't particularly sure as to why he was waving), he extracted himself from their table and more or less crab-walked his way to the bathroom. He could feel the inquisitive gazes that were spared towards him as he squeezed past a few tables but he couldn't care less about that. His face was hot. Very, very hot and it unsettled him because in spite of how disturbing Francis's words were, he was unperturbed by them.

And that in itself was just _not right_.

 

* * *

 

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh and he glared at the mirror.

He had been trying to wash the stain out of his shirt but after a while, he gave up since water and hand soap wasn't doing much.

"I see you're having a swell evening."

Arthur whirled around and he was startled to find Alfred standing right in front of him. It was a little unnerving how the American had found it perfectly all right to situate himself in his personal space. Shrugging it off as an American thing (harbouring greater confidence and all), he took a step away from the sink to restore the acceptable space between them. "I didn't hear you come in," he said.

Alfred flashed him a grin. "Oh yeah, I guess you were probably really busy with that shirt of yours. I mean dude, seriously? Red wine? How could you even spill that stuff on yourself? Are you really that clumsy? And y'know that's gonna stay there – wait, were you putting hot – no shit, seriously you were? Oh man. Y'know, for someone who's rumoured to be the drinker, you guys sure don't know much about cleaning stains huh?"

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked defensively with a frown. And here he had been seeking for a moment to gather his repose. He was about to reach over for a tissue to dab his shirt dry when Alfred stepped into his space once more and rudely tugged him by the elbow to direct him towards the sink as he turned on the tap. "O-Oy! Just what do you think you're doing?" he hissed as he tried to pull his arm back. His elbow was throbbing under Alfred's firm grip and it briefly reminded him of last night's escapade.

"Dude, relax man. You can't use hot water Aaron or it'll make the stain stay on way longer," Alfred explained, reaching over for a tissue to wet it as Arthur's automatic correction to his name flies past his head. "And you gotta dab? Blob? Blot? Ah whatever, you get the idea though right? Yeah, that, so you won't go on making it worse. Lucky for you, you're in damn good British luck that I've got an awesome solution for your predicament."

Arthur wrestled his arm out of the man's grasp. "Oh? And what would that be? Douse me with cold water? Yes, that'd be absolutely helpful, wouldn't it?" he remarked sarcastically. Oh confound it, he couldn't care less if he coming off as a prick to the other man. Alfred was the big knobhead here.

Alfred quirked his eyebrow at him while his other hand fished his pockets for-

"Check it out, yo."

Arthur stared at the offending object which had been thrust under his nose. "What? You've got to be joking."

"Dude I'm totally serious!" Alfred threw his head back and laughed when he spotted the disbelief on Arthur's face. "Here. This shit totally works." He brandished it towards Arthur, who didn't take it.

"It's fucking toothpaste. How is that going to do anything?"

"Well, ya gotta rub it in and it'll come off."

"Rubbish."

Alfred frowned at him. "No seriously. It's not rubbish. I don't understand why you're not understanding the fact that I'm helping you out here."

"I never said I wanted your help," Arthur interjected.

"Huh, really?" When Alfred looks genuinely surprised at this, Arthur couldn't help but wonder just how far the extent of this man's sense of self-absorption was. "Well that sucks. Too bad I'm still gonna be the hero and help you out anyway."

"What hero? Look, really, I don't need your-"

Without a speck of propriety, Alfred squeezed a pea-size amount of toothpaste onto his finger. He disregarded the unhappy squawk which came from Arthur and leaned in to rub the paste ever so roughly across the stain. "It was her idea, y'know. She said this stuff works and then she pretty much nagged me into to bringing it along. I mean I can't understand why it has to be me instead of her since she's got a bag. I mean, that's what bags are for, right? To put your stuff in. I don't understand why they always flat out refuse to let us guys put our takeouts in them. I mean, what use is it carrying around huge bags when you're not going to put anything reasonably useful in them, you know what I'm saying?"

Arthur held back a sigh. "Crystal clear. Now will you please kindly get-"

"Oh yeah and FYI, to be honest I can't say I've really tested the theory out myself so don't sue me if – oh. Ah. Huh. Shit, I think I made it worse. Gee, sorry buddy."

Arthur shoved Alfred's hand off to inspect the peppermint-scented damage and fuck, the front of his shirt looked like it had been plastered with bloody spunk. Arthur let out an frustrated noise. "Great. Brilliant. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it," he remarked bitterly as he tried to wipe it off with some damp tissues. No such luck. If anything, he actually made it even more unappealing to the eye than before. He swore.

Fantastic. Absolutely fucking fantastic.

"Hay, I said I was sorry. It's just a shirt, y'know."

Arthur scoffed and he gave the man an incredulous look. "Why yes, it is indeed just a shirt and I bloody well wouldn't give a fuck too if we were in my local fish and chips," he snapped. "But hey, as you can very well observe, this isn't my local fish and chips and that yes, my shirt is not just a shirt because it is the only shirt which I will have to use for the rest of the night, in front of-"

"So is it a date?"

"Huh?"

Alfred was looking directly at him with those blue, blue eyes. He jerked his head towards the door. "Francis Bonnefoy. You two on a date?"

Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing and he flushed red at this. "Wha-! H-He's my boss, for fuck's sake!" he exclaimed.

They stared at each other for a moment, the drop of pause between them quiet and stifling as Arthur stood clenching his fists by his sides.

"Huh," was all what Alfred said.

"What do you mean by 'huh'?"

"That's just what it is." Alfred's response was just as cryptic as the first. Arthur scowled at him and his shoulders were hunched up defensively. He didn't know what the deal was but whatever assumptions Alfred had cropping up in that thick head of his, it was making him angry and terribly anxious.

"Just what are you-" And then it clicked. "No! God, Christ, no! We are not-! Why do you-what is up with people concluding that I'm- I'm not–sod off! I am not having this from you of all people!" Arthur cried and he moved around Alfred to leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"Glad it's not a date then." Alfred's voice was low. Serious.

Arthur paused by the door, his brows pinched together in confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, his mind groping around for some sort of plausible response to fill in the uncomfortable silence which fell upon them. He looked over his shoulder, only to find Alfred walking past him and out the door.

"See ya 'round."

Arthur huffed, a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding in exhaled out of him.

"What a prat."

 

* * *

 

By the time Arthur had finally stepped back into the dining room, it had been ten minutes since Alfred left. He had spent all that time fruitlessly cleaning his shirt and it was only after another patron had walked in to use the lavatory did he leave. He took a deep breath, straightened his dirty shirt and quickly made a beeline to his table with his shoulders hunched forward as he tried his best to hide the stain. The moment he plopped into his seat, he quickly pulled his on coat and this earned a raised brow from Francis. In spite of feeling guilty for abruptly leaving his boss alone, Arthur didn't meet his gaze. Instead he busied himself with the zip, forcefully tugging it up to close.

"Is something the matter?"

Arthur stopped zipping halfway and he cleared his throat. "No it's all, um, fine. All fine," he replied weakly, lifting his chin to glance at the table. "Oh, you've…dessert. Is that, um, fraise?"

"Oui, mon chou," said Francis with a small smile. "Mille-feuilles aux fraises. I hope you will enjoy it. It is delicious."

"Brilliant. It looks…good," commented Arthur as he ran his fingers ran across the teeth of his coat zipper. He tried to ignore the look which was tossed at him by a passing waiter and picked up his fork. He was a little disappointed to find that his veal had already been taken away upon return but giving it another thought, he realised that he wasn't hungry at all then. As scrumptious as the pastry looked before him, he didn't have the stomach for it.

Ever since the short encounter with Alfred in the bathroom, a burst of anxiety had swelled up inside of him and it was starting to slowly eat at him from inside. No, perhaps anxiety wasn't the right word. Confusion, maybe. A frustrating sense of confusion which was setting him on the edge.

Arthur stared at his plate.

 _Ah, a fag would be nice right about now_ , he thought sulkily, only to have his mood dampened when he remembered that his cigarette supply for two days had all been used up from last night. Goddamn bloody Prussian-

"Arthur?" Francis called out.

"Yes, sorry, what were you saying?"

He looked up to see Francis gazing at him with a calculative look.

"Are you all right? I noticed that you had taken some time in the bathroom," the man said and his eyes were straying towards Arthur's shirt.

Out of consciousness, Arthur tugged the zipper up a notch. "I…I'm fine. I just needed to tend to something for a bit. It's nothing spectacularly disastrous," he replied with a small sheepish laugh which might have sounded a little too forced as he tried to cross his legs. He was startled however when his leg crossed over a leg which was clearly not his.

"Oh." Francis's brows rose up surprise.

"Oh-shi-! Fuck!" Arthur swore out loud and he jerked his leg under the table, his knee banging against wood. The sound had attracted the attention of the nearby patrons, their murmurs of disapproval reaching to Arthur's ears. While Francis smiled apologetically at them and raised his hand to an approaching waiter, Arthur slowly set his fork down and he could feel his blush climb up to his ears.

Oh god. This was just unbelievable.

Taking hold of his zipper, he pulled it all the way up to his chin as he tried to collect himself. "Mr. Bonnefoy, I am so sorry. I-I didn't mean to-" he began.

"Non, non. C'est ne pas grave," his boss chuckled, looking rather amused for some reason as a waiter approached their table with what seemed to be the bill.

"No, it's not alright. What I did just now was incredibly stupid and embarrassing. I didn't think – well, I didn't realise that and then – well, you know I compulsively swear like a pirate which in itself is horrendously un-gentlemanly of me and I could have sworn I am working hard on holding it back and yet-" Arthur gabbled on as he fiddled with his zip, looking anywhere but Francis. He only really stopped when Francis suddenly reached over and pressed a finger against his lips to shush him.

"Ah, ah," cooed Francis with a wink. "It is not serious, yes? We shall save that blush for later so come, let us leave."

"Leave?" Arthur gawked at him. He was stunned by both the finger and the sudden suggestion.

His mind suddenly became blank and all he could really think about was just how warm Francis's finger was against his lips. It wasn't exactly soft but it wasn't exactly coarse either and the pressure applied against his lips wasn't that all domineering. It made him curious. In a moment of inspiration, Arthur parted his lips a tad bit and exhaled.

Francis retracted his finger.

Arthur slowly rose from his seat when Francis did and he watched the man pull his coat on, his eyes following those long arms as they slipped into the garment ever so elegantly. Arthur swallowed back the lump in his throat. "But what about dessert?" he asked feebly, gesticulating towards their untouched cakes.

Francis simply chuckled at this.

There was a charming quirk to his lips before he coolly replied, "Ah, well, I believe that your shirt is far more important than dessert, no?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Thien is Vietnam and yep yep, she and Al are together.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Arthur can't tell if he's excited or afraid or just fucking drunk. And then he makes a decision.

"You know for a fact that I am well aware of the fact that this is annoyingly repetitive but…it really isn't necessary. I could have taken care of that stain quite easily by myself."

"Oh, but you are also very well aware of the fact that red wine is difficult to remove once it has long set in, no? Quickly removing it will only save you time and money."

_Yes but why here?_

Arthur gave a noncommittal grunt and he leaned against the marble counter, crossing his arms as he watched Francis disappear out of the kitchen with his shirt. To be honest, in spite of feeling a little embarrassed back at the Savoy, Arthur wasn't that worked up over the stain. It was an old shirt after all and he could just throw it out but his boss had insisted that the stain needed to be tended to as soon as possible and with Arthur living in Shepherd's Bush, the nearest place was Notting Hill. Where Francis lived.

Arthur tugged at the hem of his thermal undershirt. With the winters becoming increasingly and ridiculously cold over the last few years, Arthur had seen it practical to wear a thermal shirt and a singlet underneath his clothes no matter how unflattering and boring they looked. Why, it was no use being all fashionable when you're going to end up frozen stiff by the end of the day. He was glad to be wearing two layers then because after stripping his dress shirt off to have it cleaned, it was chilly standing around in nothing but his undershirt, chinos and snow-sodden boots.

Letting out a sigh, he took his time inspecting the sleek modern open-plan kitchen/dining room. With the dramatic downlights giving the room a warm sensual glow, Arthur couldn't help but feel a stab of envy at the luxuriousness of his boss's home. Sure, he had thought that this house seemed a little too large for one man but with Francis's supposedly extensive list of lovers, it wouldn't be a surprise if one of them was shacking up with him over the weekends. Or even two for that matter.

Arthur frowned at that thought and he pushed himself off the counter, making his way into the adjoining room. He found himself in the living room. It was painted white and was minimalistic in design yet this suited Francis. A contemporary fireplace was stretched across one side of the room, the ember glow of the flames complimenting the nude-toned sofas and bean bags which sat near it. There were a lot of fashion magazines and documents scattered across the coffee table but Arthur wasn't interested in that at the moment. What really caught his interest was the home bar that was tucked in the corner of the room.

"Well fuck me," he murmured, walking over to inspect it. Fascinated, he ran his fingers across a line of liquor bottles on one shelf, reading the labels. It was all the good stuff apparently. He licked his lips. After such an evening, a drink would be fantastic.

"Do you like it?"

Arthur jumped, startled by how loud Francis's voice was in the quietness of the room. He whirled around and frowned at him. "Will you please stop coming out of the blue like that? You scared the shit out of me."

"My apologies, Arthur," Francis gave a light-hearted chuckle as he moved deeper into room and plopped onto one of the sofas, his long legs stretched out. He had removed his pullover and was now only wearing his long-sleeved polo shirt with the sleeves rolled back an inch. For Arthur, it was a strange sight really – almost ethereal – to see Francis Bonnefoy sprawled out ever so comfortably like this with the fire glowing on him and all. It was sort of like walking into a photoshoot which he had no place to be in and it made him feel somewhat insignificant standing there, like an unattractive lamp stand.

"You've got a house bar," Arthur observed, doing his best to keep the bitterness out of his tone as he pulled his gaze away from Francis. "It's well stocked too. I take it that you entertain your guests a lot with these?"

"C'est ça. Well, it is quite often that I hold informal meetings here so it is only best after all for the host to look after his guests well, do you not agree?"

"Huh." Arthur tried to not read into 'informal meetings' too much. "And you've actually got the paraphernalia and all. I don't suppose you could do the honour of fixing us a drink now, would you?" said Arthur before pausing. "No, actually, you know what? I think I should fix us something. I mean, I suppose it's the least I could do to repay you for laundering my shirt even though I kept telling you not to."

Francis laughed. It was the second time Arthur heard him that night and the sound, though still surprising, was pleasant to his ears.

"Oh? You can mix?"

Arthur snorted as he pulled out two tulip glasses from beneath the bar. "Don't bite your arm off on this one but yes. I used to work part-time as a barman back in uni. So, what will it be then? I reckon you'd fancy a Kir or something with Cognac perhaps," he said as he checked the small fridge for crushed ice. There was. Good.

"You are well read," Francis hummed, pleased. "But for tonight, I would like a drink on its own. Do you see on the bottle on the top shelf? It is Armagnac. Please, come join me for this wonderful drink. We must share this by the fireplace." As he stated this, Francis rose to his feet with a ridiculous ounce of grace (really, it should be illegal for a man to move as smoothly as that) before he settled on the carpet by the fireplace. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned Arthur over with an alluring smile.

In silent acquiescence, Arthur carefully plucked the bottle from its place and he brought it down to study the label. "Le digestif?"

"Oui oui."

"Huh. Didn't think an after-dinner drink would apply this late," he muttered, bringing the drink and glasses over to where his boss was currently splayed out. Out of politeness, Arthur silently agreed to join him on the floor but he purposely left a gap between them. "So tell me, did it cost you a bomb?" he asked, handing the bottle to the other man.

"A bomb?"

"You know, like an arm? Was it expensive?"

"Ah, yes, quite a bit. Especially so with this brand. Castarede is exquisite for its aged Armagnacs. This one is around twenty years of age," Francis crooned as he opened the bottle. A muffled, satisfying hiss filled the quiet air between them.

Arthur let out a low whistle at this. He held their glasses up and watched the brown-amber liquid slowly fill. A pleasant whiff of candied fruit and earthy spice rose up between them. Handing Francis his glass, he swirled his drink under his nose to appreciate the aroma of the liquor. "Cheers," he murmured, lifting his glass.

"À la tienne, mon ange."

Their glasses clinked.

 

* * *

 

"You know. You dress like Zara."

"Zara?"

Arthur nodded. He lifted his hand and gave a paltry wave towards Francis's clothes. "Layers and codes and…" he paused. It was noticeable that his words were beginning to slur. "The designs are, you know…real nice and all and…ah, shite. Know what? I think I'm a little tipsy."

A chuckle was drawn out of Francis as he stretched his legs out and shifted his body slightly so he could look at Arthur better. "Well it is no surprise. You drink like the Americans," he commented.

Arthur scowled at him. "Piss off, I don't drink like a yank."

"Mais je te jure que c'est vrai! Oh la la, you drink it too quickly, mon chou! To appreciate the Armagnac, you must to appraise its aged character. Come, like this," Francis's hand was suddenly on his cheek and it was directing his face towards him. Arthur shifted his hand across the carpet and his fingers came in contact with his boss's.

Arthur blinked. "Mr. Bonnefoy, what are you-"

He was silenced by the glass that was pressed to his lip.

Francis smiled at him. "Sip. Allow the drink to fill your mouth with its aroma. The flavour must sink into your taste buds before it slowly slides down your throat and warms you from the inside," he said softly. His breath was fogging up his side of the glass and there were speckles of gold in his eyes.

Suddenly, the image of Alfred appeared in Arthur's mind – of how his blue, blue eyes had also reflected gold a week back.

"Have you met Alfred Jones?" Arthur found himself asking, a little out of the blue, and Francis blinked in surprise at this as he lowered his glass to the carpet.

"Pardon?"

"Alfred 'wanker' Jones. The American solicitor. We met the vile bastard earlier this evening."

"Ah, yes. Alfred Jones. Yes, we have met in the past. He is a friend of yours?"

"Friend? God no. Absolutely not. What? Were _you_ dating him?"

There was a brief pause in their conversation and Arthur wondered if he had hit a sore spot. That would have explained Alfred's strange behaviour that evening. He did sound somewhat hostile when they were talking in the toilets. Perhaps it had ended badly? Well, who would've thought. While mulling over this, Arthur had absentmindedly entertained the notion of leaning in to scrutinise Francis's eyes, as if doing so would unlock all of the man's well-buried secrets.

Francis seemed rather cool about this, intrigued even, and he too leaned in close, only stopping when the tips of their noses almost touched. "Hm, are you jealous if this is the case?" he asked in a low voice that was laced with amusement. His warm breath was ghosting across Arthur's lips.

"What makes you think I'd become jealous? I couldn't care less if you shagged him with a garden gnome," Arthur murmured, his eyes dropping to Francis's lips for a few seconds. "I think you've forgotten the fact that we aren't even seeing each other."

"We can change that."

"You're mad," Arthur wetted his lips. He didn't like how his heart was beating faster than usual or how his fingers were curling into the carpet. He couldn't tell if he was excited or afraid or just fucking drunk. "There's no way anything like that could happen."

"Oh? You are certain that I cannot change your mind?"

"Very."

Francis cupped his cheek and without an ounce of hesitance, he brought his face close and kissed him. It wasn't anything fancy. It was a simple kiss. A sensual slide and interlocking of lips that was spiced up by the scratchiness of Francis's stubble across his skin. And yet…

Arthur's hand flew up and he grasped Francis's hair. He tugged it roughly and dragged the man closer, his lips parting to accommodate the other in a deeper kiss. He could taste the brandy in Francis's mouth, feel the way his hot breath intermingled with his own in their mouths as he dragged his tongue across his teeth and fuck, it was sexy. Arthur couldn't hold back the groan which was lost between them. It wasn't to say that Arthur was usually horny whenever he was under the influence of alcohol (because he certainly was not) but being the sexually active man he is, he will admit that it hasbeen a while since he last had sex. Why, it was a real shame that he had puked on that girl's shoes the other night. If Gilbert hadn't made him so drunk, he would have scored last night. He wouldn't have stumbled to work with a terrible hangover. He wouldn't have been dragged to that awkward dinner and he certainly wouldn't be sitting here with his boss's tongue down his-

Arthur moaned.

And then just as abruptly as when the kiss had first started, it ended. Arthur pulled his head back and he found himself heaving for air, his lips were hot and throbbing.

"What about now?" Francis crowed as his fingers played with the hair at the nape of Arthur's neck.

"That was just one kiss. One drunken kiss. And a poorly executed one at tha'."

Francis chuckled at this and he leaned in to press a trail of staccato kisses across Arthur's mouth and jaw. "Was it? But you kiss beautifully, mon chou," he murmured.

"I've been with lots of girls," Arthur replied in between the kisses Francis was planting him with. He shifted his arm which was supporting his weight and it knocked Francis's glass over, spilling brandy across the carpet. Neither of them paid any attention to it.

"And what about now?"

"What about now? Does it really matter? I mean-" Arthur's breath hitched when Francis brushed his lips across his collarbone. Arthur's fingers were still buried Francis's hair and he clutched onto the luscious locks, torn between pulling or pushing the man away. He swallowed. "Mr. Bonnefoy, you do know that I don't succumb to self-abandonment."

"But of course."

"God, I must be really drunk if I'm actually allowing you to snog me."

"Oh, non non, mon chou. You are not drunk because of alcohol. You are intoxicated because of the passion which has ignited inside you."

"Bullshit."

Another kiss was stolen and Arthur was now lying on his back with Francis on top of him. The other man was looking directly at him, his eyes burning with lust. Arthur gazed at him, a little stunned because in all honesty, he had never witnessed the ferocity of an emotion before. None of his previous girlfriends had ever stared at him like that and it caused something to stir inside him.

"You are craving for something new, Arthur. I can see it in your eyes."

Arthur tilted his head.

"I'm not gay."

Francis leaned in.

"Neither am I."

 

* * *

 

The first thing Arthur realised when he woke up was that he felt very satiated. Extremely satiated. It was a feeling that most peculiar and nostalgic to him – sort of like that feeling of satisfaction he had gotten from submitting his dissertation back in university or waking up to the sight of a beautiful girl wearing his underwear. Yes, it was a feeling of completion, almost.

The second thing he realised was that he had a headache, a dull throbbing in the back of his head. He was disorientated and a little parched but was fairly certain that he wasn't as drunk as he had been the previous night. Why, for the first time since New Year, he found himself waking up in his bed rather than sprawled out in a rather awkward position on the bathroom floor. It was a pleasant change. It was much more comfortable curled up on a soft mattress instead of cold hard tiles, after all.

Arthur allowed a few seconds to pass before he finally sat up. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the tangles in irritation. "I should get a haircut soon," he said through a yawn. His unkempt mop was starting to look like a scraggly dog that was permanently glued to his head.

"I agree. A spiky crop would be beautiful on you."

Arthur's eyes shot open and he turned his head to look towards the other side of the bed. There, tangled in a pool of crumpled bed sheets was Francis Bonnefoy, lying on his stomach. He was wearing nothing but a smile.

_Holy fuck._

An unflattering gurgle left Arthur's mouth.

_What the fuck._

_What in fucking fuck._

Noting the absent look on his face, Francis chuckled and he raised himself from his comfortable position. "Bon matin, mon chou."

"No, wait, don't do that-"

Without really meaning to, Arthur's eyes dropped to Francis's penis the moment the bed sheets slipped off his body and as absurd as it sounded, he really couldn't stop himself from openly staring at his boss's knob right then.

"Arthur?"

Really, he can't look away. Fucking shite was impressive.

"Oh, do you want to have sex?"

Arthur flailed his arms at this and he gracelessly threw himself out of bed in the wild hope that he would suddenly wake up from this alcohol-induced dream. Unfortunately, he didn't. The sharp pain he received from hitting the floor had only made him even more awake and aware of the fact that he too was naked.

Double shit.

Francis was cursing softly in French and Arthur looked up in time to see him peering over the edge of the bed with a concerned look.

"-Arthur, mon chou, are you… _oh my_."

Slowly, Arthur brought his knees up to his chest and he slipped on a look of indifference on his face. He could feel a blush betray him but that didn't really matter because nothing could amend the fact that Francis had just seen his morning wood.

Triple shit.

What a cracking morning indeed.

"Guten morgen Mr. Bonnefoy," Arthur began with a nod to which Francis humoured him by returning it with one of his own. He had no idea why he greeted a Frenchman in German but he ploughed on nevertheless. "Um, look, I don't want to sound like ignorant coc- person, I mean, but what exactly happened last night?"

"We made love," answered Francis simply.

"Please tell me you're joking. We couldn't have."

"Oh, but it is true. And you are just as I imagined, mon chou. Beautiful. Passionate. Possessive and kinky too. I like that."

" _Kinky_?" echoed Arthur, ears reddening.

"Oui oui. Shall we use handcuffs instead of ties next time?"

It took him a moment to collect himself and once he did, Arthur exhaled heavily before fastening Francis a look of disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous. What makes you think there is a next time? Office romances are strictly off my list."

"Oh? Well that is a shame," said Francis. He reached out and touched Arthur's face, brushing back a few flyaway hairs. "I really do like you very much."

Arthur arched his brow but he made no move to get lean away from the touch. "We've only been acquainted not too long ago. I don't understand what it is that you like about me. I was all sorts of stupid the first time we met."

"The flaws of a person is what makes them beautiful, no? It is a paradox that imperfection is true perfection."

Arthur frowned at this. Huh. Says the man who looked like he just walked out of the cover of a _Vogue_ magazine, clothed or unclothed. His gaze ran over the golden hairs on the man's arm before settling on the man's well-formed pecs. Really, never in his life had Arthur felt so jealous of _chest hair_. As ludicrous as that sounded, it really was making him feel less of a man, sitting on the floor watching Francis's broad physique as the man ran his fingers through his hair.

"I ought to go," Arthur finally said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Yao is likely to require some help with the articles that are coming in. We've got those spring dresses to sort out and all."

Francis hummed in acknowledgement but his fingers continued sifting through Arthur's hair.

Arthur shifted his legs and he was reminded of the stiffness of his wang. His blush deepened. "Um, you should go and get ready since I'll be heading back now so…" he suggested and this earned him a look of amusement from Francis.

"Oh? And leave you running off with that?" he said through a small chuckle. "Oh no, mon chou. I simply could not. Come back to bed. It is still early, yes? Come, I will look after you."

Arthur cleared his throat in discomfort and he tried to scoot away from Francis's fingers. "No, it's running late. You should know that peak times in London are atrocious, particularly since it's treacherous with the snow and all."

Grasping him by the crook of his neck, Francis tugged him close and he kissed him slowly, deeply. Arthur could taste the traces of brandy on his tongue. "I can drive you to work, yes?" he offered the moment they pulled back for air.

Arthur licked his lips. He was aware with how much they tingled with yearning. "There's snow. We'd be stuck in traffic all morning."

"I don't see that as a problem for us."

"Well, it is a problem for me because the last thing I want is walking in with you at a late hour. People will – no, Yao will talk and we're not an item."

Francis gave him a small wistful smile and it wasn't long before Arthur found himself being drawn back into another spine-tingling kiss. One which prompted him to climb back into warm sheets and the welcoming arms of one delightful Francis Bonnefoy.

 

* * *

 

"Shit, shit, _shit_ -!"

Arthur leapt across the gap and he had managed to slip through the doors that were sliding close. Although his action had attracted the attention of the passengers in the carriage, he released a sigh of relief and straightened his shirt, paying them no heed.

Well no, not his shirt. Definitely not his shirt. A long-sleeved polo was definitely not an item which belonged in his wardrobe.

In his haste of gathering his belongings and catch the tube on time, he had accidentally swept up his boss's polo shirt and ran out of the house without looking back. So now he was stuck with wearing the man's shirt for the entire journey. Not that it would take very long. Shepherd's Bush was only two stops away after all. And no, he was not sniffing the collar of his boss's shirt in an attempt to try and figure out what eau de parfum he wore.

Lifting his chin, Arthur checked the route map.

"What?"

He stared at the map in confusion. That was odd. Why wasn't Shepherd's Bush listed on? He searched the station names one more time and when he still couldn't find it, realisation sank in.

"Bollocks."

He smacked his forehead.

He had boarded the wrong line _again_. Great. That was twice in one week. Arthur groaned and he held on to the handrail to steady himself as the train pulled to a stop at the next station. As people moved to file out of the train, Arthur shuffled over to an available seat and plopped onto it. He heaved a sigh.

"Rough morning?" a man who sat beside him asked without looking up from his newspaper.

Arthur ran his fingers through his hair, smiling wryly. "Crappiest, mate. I mean, it's not every day that you find yourself absolutely shitfaced and in be…" he trailed off the moment he glanced up and found himself looking into the blue, blue eyes of Alfred Jones. The very Alfred Jones whom he had last seen smearing fucking toothpaste all over his shirt not too long ago (yes, last night did mean not so long ago, shut it). Yes, apparently it was that Alfred Jones who was now sitting right next to him it seemed.

Arthur's mouth dropped open in shock.

_You've got to be fucking joking._

Alfred's eyes brightened with recognition. "Dude!" he exclaimed, looking rather delighted.

Arthur dropped his bag and it landed with a dull thud on the floor.

_No, you cannot be serious._

"Aw man, this is so cool. Who would've thought I'd run in to you here. So, what's up mate?"

_Oh god no. Please tell me my stupidity did not just lead me here._

"No, this wasn't supposed to happen," Arthur grumbled, picking up his bag and adjusting it on his lap. "Shit, I got on the wrong line."

Alfred burst into laughter. "Dude, are you for real? Who would've thought you're not attentive type. But y'know, then again I sorta expected that since you seem to have a habit of wearing socks that don't match, like last time you were wearing red and brown or something. Anyway, what line did you say you usually take on the subway?"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, as if doing so would filter the grating pitch of Alfred's overly happy voice. "Central. And it's called the tube, mind you," he answered with an exasperated sigh.

"Oh right! Heh, my bad. Tube, yeah. Gotta remember that from now on, huh? Right, so it's Central, eh? Which one is that?"

"The one in red. Red line, I meant."

Alfred was checking the route map for a few moments before he smiled. "Right, I see it. Yeah. Cool. That's cool."

"And you?" Arthur couldn't help but ask in order to fill in the awkward pause between them.

Alfred folded his broadsheet on his lap (The Guardian, huh. No surprise there) before he pursed his lips thought, staring at the map. "The yellow one. Or was it green? Wait, am I even…yep, yeah, it's that yellow one right there. Hey, know what? I don't know about you but I think it's fate."

The train swerved around the corner and Arthur found himself pressed against Alfred's side. "Sorry," he mumbled before righting himself. "What is?"

"Us meeting here," Alfred continued, his hand waving out in front of him. "I think your stupidity actually led us to right to each other."

Arthur blinked. "…Pardon?"

"Where are you going anyway?" Alfred suddenly asked and Arthur looked on in astonishment.

"Home," he found himself answering truthfully.

"Home?"

"Yes. It's what I call a place I live in."

"Well duh, Captain Obvious," Alfred rolled his eyes at this and Arthur couldn't help but smirk a little. "But seriously, why are you going home? Your office on fire or something?"

"Huh. Now that's a thought." Arthur shook his head. "Unfortunately no. Personal reasons."

"Oh. Your cat died?"

"You honestly think I keep a cat?"

Alfred gave him a wink and a light shrug. "Well why not? Fancied you'd have a cute little thing that's just as grumpy as you. You know what they say, 'Pets reflect what is you' so I gather that your cute little kitty is gonna look just like you."

Arthur scowled. "Bog off. What sort of things have you been reading?"

Alfred chuckled and for the first time since making acquaintance with the man, Arthur felt a little mellowed by the sound. He wasn't sure if it was because the train screeches had drowned out the unpleasant twang which usually entailed Alfred's laughter but the sound was all right for now. "Hey, I'm just pulling your leg, man. Lighten up, Arts."

"Arthur."

"That's what I said."

"No, you said 'Arts'. That isn't even a name to start. Arthur is an English name and it isn't that difficult to pronounce in the first place so I'd appreciate it if you didn't butcher it."

"Heh, sure thing. But hey, y'know, ya gotta give me credit for getting it right, man."

"Oh, right, absolutely astonishing that. Why, you truly do deserve a fucking gold star for your efforts. Congratulations," Arthur said dryly as he reclined back in his seat and glanced up at the map above them.

_Three more stops._

"So. When am I getting my reward?"

What?

Arthur slowly turned his head to stare at Alfred blankly. "What makes you think there is one?" he asked slowly and it was right there and then that, for some unfathomable reason, Alfred _pouted_ at him. Arthur blinked once, twice and – oh god, he was still fucking _pouting_.

"Aww dude."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

_Two more stops._

"Pretty please? Hey, come on, I'm saying please here. With a big fat cherry on top and all. How about it, eh?" Alfred was poking his arm and none too gently at that.

Arthur shrugged him off. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Duuuude."

Again, Alfred was pouting. Honestly, how old was this man again? An exasperated sigh escaped from Arthur's lips as he raked his fingers through his hair. He continued to ignore the pokes on his arm.

"Duuuuuude." Alfred had given up poking. He was now bumping his leg against his own.

"Please stop that, Jones."

"Wha'?"

_South Kensington. Last stop._

Arthur rose to his feet, steadying himself as the train screeched to a halt. He was about to make his way to the door when Alfred grabbed his sleeve and stopped him. Arthur glanced down and met the man's eyes, which were gazing back at him in surprising intensity. "I need to get off here, Jones," he explained.

"Stop calling me Jones and it's last night that I wanna talk about," Alfred said suddenly and Arthur felt his cheeks flush in colour. He jerked his sleeve out of the man's grasp.

"Look, if you're asking about my boss, I can very well tell you that nothing fucking happened, all righ'? Goodbye," he hissed.

And with that, Arthur jostled his way out of the train and through the crowded platform. Just as he heard the doors slide close, he glanced back to see if Alfred had followed after him for lying through his teeth.

He did not.

 

* * *

 

"Oi! Méi mao! What time do you call this?"

Arthur stopped in his tracks, his clandestine efforts of sneaking into the office now gone to waste. He straightened his back and turned to face Yao. The man was carrying a new set of folders in his arms, his brow arched as he was munching on some new treat from the looks of it. Arthur's stomach rumbled loudly and he scowled, feeling a little embarrassed when Yao's brow arched higher. Well it wasn't his fault that his stomach was growling. He hadn't eaten anything since last night's dinner after all.

"It's noon," he replied coolly as he made his way behind his desk to settle in and get straight to working.

Yao was not pleased. "Noon? Noon? It is not just noon. It is already quarter to one. You come in when we are about to go out for lunch. Honestly, I cannot understand your work ethic. You know, if I was running this establishment, I will definitely fire you for being so lazy."

"Oh, you wish," Arthur muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as he relieved himself of his jacket and plopped onto his chair. Spotting the mountain of folders Yao had thoughtfully left for him to tend to, he held back an exasperated sigh. "I trust these are all for the spring dresses?" he asked.

"Are you stupid, mei mao? My goodness, use your eyes. That one is the winter collection. You still remember, yes? Orange for accessories and makeup. Blue for clothes. But anyway, since you are not so busy, you go through the spring ones also," Yao unceremoniously drops the folders he had been cradling onto Arthur's desk and apparently also had the balls to dust his hands off in front of him. "They need to be sent to Francis by tomorrow."

"What, all of this?" Arthur cried incredulously. "I can't finish all of this on my own and by this evening no less! It's impossible!"

"See! That's why you should wake up early! Honestly, you English are always late for everything, aren't you? It's no wonder you don't go so far. And eating nothing for breakfast isn't helping you at all. But I guess I can understand why you would skip because your food is so bland after all," Yao comments with a flick of his ponytail. "Eh, don't just sit there and look at me. If you want to finish early, you better start now. What? You can't do it?"

It was amazing how this man was able to get away with so many things.

"I didn't say that. And yes, I am quite capable of helping you go through these files since you're obviously well busy with more important matters," Arthur replied dryly, watching his senior seat himself behind his desk and already picking up the phone to make his daily call to whoever it was he always bothered during office hours.

Yao puffs his chest out at this and there is a proud smile on his face. "Of course I'm busy. You know why? Why, it's because my little brother is getting engaged to a good girl from a good and very rich family. Ah I'm so proud of him. You know what? We are going to hold the engagement reception at-"

"Oh, wicked, brilliant to hear. I suppose I should send my heartiest congratulations to the groom-to-be then. Congratulations," Arthur interjected, clearly disinterested as he began to flip through the folders he had been entrusted with. He didn't mean to come off as an absolute prat to Yao but the last thing he wanted to hear was someone else's successful relationship tale so early in the day. Especially if it was Yao's kin.

Yao made a shrill sound of disapproval. " _Very_ rude. No wonder you don't have a nice woman at your old age. You see, my cute little brother is so obedient, so good and _so_ young that he can easily find someone to marry. Not just someone but a good, beautiful, very _sexy_ girl from one of the elite-"

Arthur buried his face in the folder he currently handled and groaned, trying to zone out Yao's voice.

Really, could this day get any worse?

A small beep came from his computer, signalling the arrival of an email. He glanced at the notification bubble at the bottom corner of his screen and – _of course_.

Arthur thumped his head against his desk.

_Of course._

Reluctantly, his hand slowly moved the cursor of his mouse towards the bubble and clicked the 'open message' button.

_**Message to: Kirkland** _

_**Oh mon dieu…I must say that you looked very irresistible wearing my shirt this morning. Why, if I was to wake up to such a beautiful sight every morning, I would die of happiness, mon petit chou. Oh la la la, tu es merveilleux, Arthur. It was such a pity that our time together was painfully short. Why, I can only imagine the beautiful expressions which would have graced your face if I was able to lick your** _

Arthur promptly closed his email window and for good measure, also shut down his computer. "Fucking Europeans," he grumbled.

"Oh? What of Europeans?"

Shit.

Glancing up, he found Francis looking down at him with an amused little smile. His hair was loose today and Arthur swallowed back the uncomfortable lump which had formed in his throat when he was briefly reminded of what had happened between them a few hours ago. He cleared his throat and forced a smile. "It's nothing of great concern, Mr. Bonnefoy. I was just…it's nothing."

"Oh, but this does not say that it is nothing."

Without warning, Francis suddenly reached out and the tips of his fingers were smoothing across the skin between his brows. Arthur jerked his head back.

"Mr. Bonnefoy, wha-"

"Your shirt is still at my house, mon ange," Francis said, suddenly leaning in. There was a small, cryptic smile on his lips as his hand reached outwards, the tips of his fingers subtly brushing across Arthur's knuckles. "I'm afraid the washing machine had done a little damage to it but I cannot be sure. Would you like to come over and look at it, my darling?"

What?

Arthur slowly blinked and he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Pray tell, was Francis Bonnefoy using an excuse to see him? No, no. The question here was why was Francis Bonnefoy needing an excuse to see him?

Wait. _What?_

There was an awkward pause before Arthur moistened his lips and spoke. "When?" he asked croakily.

"This evening. If you do not want your shirt, I have a new one to replace it with."

"Huh?"

"Well?" Francis egged him, eyes gleaming with mirth.

Well _what?_

Arthur lowered his gaze to their hands.

All right. For one thing, he wasn't daft. He knew there were two fucking options laid out before him and that Francis was expecting him to choose right there and then.

Right.

So the first choice, apparently, was to accept the bad and corny excuse of checking out possibly destroyed shirt before (most likely) tumbling unto his boss's fancy expensive bed and pick up that morning's bedroom escapades. The second choice was to reject Francis's offer and just walk away. Pretend that last night had never happened, that none of whatever this is had ever happened between them - that there had never been _anything_ between them. Not that there had ever been anything, but it was better to stop that _anything_ from becoming a _something_.

From the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed how Yao was actually (and rather blatantly) watching them from his desk, his phone call hushed for once. At another time, Arthur would have probably gathered to balls to call Yao out for eavesdropping on their private conversation. However, with this…

Francis's hand moved and it was now firmly settled upon his own. The touch was warm, familiar, _inviting_. He was murmuring something but the words flew right over Arthur's head the moment he began rubbing small, soothing circles into his clammy skin.

"About that replacement, Mr. Bonnefoy," he began.

"Yes, mon chou?"

Arthur raised his chin to meet Francis's gaze.

"It'd better be worth it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where we find out that it's been two months (three actually) and what's this thing about love? Oh, and Kiku has a dilemma. Yikes.

"You. Bitch."

It was pretty much the only thing Arthur heard before a huffy Feliks plops himself onto the seat across from him without so much of a greeting. Ignoring the small wave from Kiku and the welcoming hoot from Gilbert, Feliks stared down at Arthur. After a beat of silence, he clicked his tongue and scowled. "Well, aren't you mature," he grumbled, reaching over for one of the plates of skewered morsels (pintxos, Kiku said they were called) and dragging it close to him. "I mean, like, I know it's not any of _my_ business but you know it's not exactly _that_ difficult to give a signal boost or something. I mean, like, if this is how you value _our_ friendship…"

"Whoa, whoa, hang on. Stop right there," Arthur cuts in, his brow arching when Feliks's bottom lip protrudes out even more. "Firstly, a simple hello would be nice instead of 'bitch'. And secondly, as much as I understand how easy it is for you to fall under work related stress but would you please stop talking and tell me just what exactly are you on about?" he asked, exchanging a questioning look with Kiku, who looked rather confused himself.

"Oh you very well know what it is I am referring to," said Feliks, flicking his hair. "Like, were you ever going to tell _me_? Ugh, I can't believe you. I am like your absolute bestest of all best friends."

Gilbert snorted at this and Kiku opened his mouth to speak.

"Uh-uh-uh!" Feliks tutted. "He is the bitchest bitch and you know that. Like, I can't believe he even had the nerve. We are like his family, you know? Like, oh my god. And to think _we_ of all people are not informed of _this_. Like, so totally rude."

Arthur looked on in bafflement. "What?"

"Jesus, cut the crap and admit that you like to suck the cock now, ja?" Gilbert interjected as he lewdly sucked on a skewered meatball.

Sputtering, Arthur flushed at the tactless remark.

" _Giru_!" gasped Kiku, slipping into an accent for the first time.

Gilbert shrugged. "What, so you think after two months nobody noticed you've been fucking that French boss of yours? Heh. Didn't think you'd actually have the balls to go after him but hey. Ich gratuliere!" he congratulated with wide grin and chugged his beer in one go.

"What? Two months _and_ he's French!?" Feliks screeched, looking utterly scandalised. "Oh. My. God. Arthur Kirkland, you really are, like, the most self-centred bitch in the universe. I am totally hurt by all of this. You and I are _so_ over. Like, _finito_. Friendship over."

"What? No, come on now, Feliks. It isn't like that at all," Arthur attempted to reason, his voice laced with exasperation. He ran his fingers through his hair, only to grimace at the tangles they were caught in. "Of course I was going to – wait, no, hang on, I thought only Kiku knew about this!" Arthur turned to Kiku, ignoring the melodramatic wail from Feliks (He was rather affronted by the fact that Kiku was the first to know – "He's _always_ the first to know! What, is it because he's Asian!?"). Upon meeting the Japanese man's eyes however, he was a little surprised to see Kiku return a rueful look to him. And an apologetic bob of his head.

"I'm sorry Arthur, but Gil was…I'm very sorry but when you had telephoned me that day he was in the same room as I and he had listened to our conversation so I'm afraid…" Kiku stopped in mid-sentence, his shoulders sagging. Upon acquiring this information, Arthur cast an accusing look to the Prussian, who simply smirked back.

"What he knows, I know," Gilbert stated, tapping his temple. He then fished out his phone and aimed the lens towards him. "Smile, asshole. You're gonna be famous shit on my blog."

"Fuck you," Arthur snarled. There were two snapshots. He sighed in defeat. "Whatever. I suppose there's no point of sweeping shit under the carpet since it will still reek."

"Ugh, _hello_ ," Feliks gesticulated to the pintxos with a fervent wave of his hand. "Food. Eating. Honestly!"

"Ah, sorry, please excuse me. I'm very sorry," Kiku quickly apologised.

"Oh no no no! Not you, sugarplum! Oh my god, you are, like, so adorbs! Like, I can just pop you in my bag like a Chihuahua! Oh my god, did you get a haircut because you look super cute…oh you did? Oh you bitch…"

"Again, I apologise."

"Oh, stop that," Feliks gushed. "I'm not talking about you Kiki – you are, like, too precious I can't even! - I'm talking about bitch queen Arthur here. He is so crass, like it's totally ungentlemanly! Like, did that Frenchman rub off on you or something or what?"

"Ceh, I bet ya he's not rubbing at all. Fucking Frenchy probably always cums all over his face," Gilbert commented offhandedly and it caused Kiku to actually spit out his drink.

"Gilbert!" Feliks reprimanded. He had miraculously procured a handkerchief out of god knows where and quickly patted the front of Kiku's shirt (who seemed reluctant but caved in to the man's incessant actions). "Oh don't listen to that creep, he's always so unpleasant isn't he?"

"Oi I'm just stating the truth. Right, Keeks? See, he don't even need to say anything. Come on, lighten up, Brit! It's good that you're kinda feelin' awesome and drowned up in that love shit. Figured this is probably the most stable relationship you're in by far."

"You know, I cannot believe I'm going to say this but like, for once, I actually think Gilbert is right," agreed Feliks.

"Oh come off it," Arthur rolled his eyes.

"No, really! Now that I think about it, you've been, like, super happy lately and we are totally happy for you. I mean, like, after all this time, I can't believe you're actually gay! Oh my gosh, this is so exciting! So when are you going to introduce this beau of yours to us? He is gorgeous right? Oh the French always are."

"What? No! I'm not gay," Arthur cried. It suddenly dawned upon him how strange those words sounded coming out of his mouth. He mulled over the words of his friends. Him? Happy? Really? Apart from feeling rejuvenated from a wholly satisfying round of sex (okay, several rounds), he couldn't really peg it down as absolute happiness now could he? Office romps don't exactly last long after all (and that was what it all was – a romp). He reached for a cigarette and lit it because fuck his resolution, tonight was an exception. "Look," he began through a puff of smoke. "We aren't even together so there's no reason for you lot to get excited."

Gilbert made a disdainful sound and he reached over the table to help himself to a cigarette. He took no note of the disapproving look Arthur shot him and turned his head to offer Kiku a stick. The Japanese man declined. Shrugging in compliance, Gilbert then reached over and gave rough pat to Kiku's head, ruffling his hair. Arthur could not help but feel a little sorry for the man. It must have been an absolute bitch to deal with Gilbert for the last, what, fifteen years or something. God, that was a long time. Arthur had often really wondered how they were even best friends to begin with. But then again, this was Gilbert and Kiku. No one could really understand the depth of their bond, himself included. Their little thing was one of those weird co-dependent friendships which you could not dissect no matter how much you tried.

"What? Not together?" Feliks visibly deflates at the news. "Oh. My. God. Arthur Kirkland, are you telling me you've been having sex with your boss to get a promotion? You sneaky little bitch."

"No, that's not it at all," replied Arthur exasperatedly. "We're both not gay and we're just shagging alright? That's all."

"Fuck buddies," offered Gilbert.

Arthur glared at him. "That's a rather crude way of putting it but yes, I reckon only you would call it that."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. So was his dong huge or what?"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt!" screeched Feliks.

"What? Don't you tell me you don't wanna know too," Gilbert crooned with a smirk before regarding Kiku. "Whaddya say, eh? You reckon it's awesome and huge, babe?"

"I don't think that is wise to answer," said Kiku pensively.

"Huge, eh? Thought so."

"Bugger off," hissed Arthur.

"Oh my god. Shut up. Are you saying it is?" Feliks gasped, lowering his drink. When Arthur made no inclination to answer, he squealed all wide-eyed. "Oh my god! Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything," grumbled Arthur as he took a puff of his cigarette.

"Oh. My. God. You _have_ to tell me. Everything. Right now."

"What? No."

"No?"

"No!"

" _Arthur_."

"No, I bloody don't. You can't make me."

"Arthur."

"Fuck you."

" _Arthur Reginald Kirkland_!"

Gilbert, after sidling up next to Kiku and taking a picture of themselves, nearly dropped his phone. His brows shot up to his hairline. "The _fuck_ …"

"Oya." There was a ghost of smile on Kiku's lips though he hid it behind his sleeve.

Glowering, Arthur snapped his cigarette in half. "I hate you."

Feliks reached over and gave his cheek an affectionate pinch. "Kocham ciẹ. Now spill."

 

* * *

 

"A weekend away."

Francis stood in front of the television and Arthur made a sound of protest at this as he glared at him. "Hello. Hi. Yes, I see you. Mr. Bonnefoy, would you ever be so kind to please move your derrière aside? I'm watching–" He leaned to the side to peer around the man's body. "Oh great! Wonderful! That was the penalty shot," he huffed, throwing his hands up as he leant back against the cushions of his sofa in disgruntlement. "And that's full time! Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! I've just missed the golden moment of the game and it's all because you had to parade around all half-naked with your stupid chest hair and _that_." He waved his hand around in frustration.

"That? Oh la la. Come now, mon petit chou. Why so cold? Have we not agreed that you will address me as Francis at home? And about the game, I'm sorry but I will make it up to you," Francis replied as he turned off the television.

"Oh really? I hardly doubt you could rewind time," Arthur replied dryly. He pursed his lips in disappointment. "I thought you'd agreed not to call me broccoli anymore."

That earned a laugh from Francis. "Cabbage, darling. I don't remember you mentioning anything about that. Are you certain that it wasn't when we were having sex? You know how I get distracted by your beautiful body." He chuckled when Arthur made an undignified sound. "How about I take you to Paris?" he then asked almost offhandedly and there was a hopeful look on his face.

Arthur blinked owlishly. "…excuse me?"

"Paris. La Ville-Lumière. Will you come?" Francis asked, smiling sweetly. "Oh, you have a little bit of the cereal." He sat on his haunches and from his position in between Arthur's legs, he leaned in and swept the crumbs off the corner of Arthur's mouth.

"…Merci."

"De rien."

A comfortable silence fell upon them as they simply sat across each other.

Within the two months of sort of seeing each other (and having a lot of ridiculously good sex – honestly, who would have thought bumming could be _that_ enjoyable), Arthur had quickly come to learn a few things about Francis Bonnefoy. For one thing, regardless of being quite the passionate lover, he was surprisingly quite an early riser and Arthur would usually find himself waking up to the sight of Francis all dressed yet still lying in bed. He had asked him why this was so and Francis simply stated that he liked to watch him sleep.

Another thing he noticed was that Francis liked to sleep nude. Though this wasn't a big deal, Arthur had initially found it rather awkward to sleep next to his boss whenever he stayed the night, particularly during the nights when they didn't have sex. It didn't bother him so much now, especially since he too had begun to sleep nude just so he could greedily catch the warmth which radiated from the man's body. It wasn't as if he liked Francis's embrace or the feel of his skin against his own. His apartment block just had crappy central heating.

A small sigh escaped Arthur's lips as Francis looped his arm around his leg and drew it close to him.

There was something unmistakably erotic about watching Francis, he realised, especially now when he's sitting comfortably without his shirt on in spite of how cold it was. It was during times like this did Arthur realise he would notice the little things. The goosebumps which rose across his skin, the soft golden hair which stood on its end, the natural masculine scent which wafted from that one point on his neck. God, Francis Bonnefoy was such a ridiculously attractive human being. It should be criminal.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

"Why are you half-naked?" asked Arthur distractedly as he finally met Francis's eyes the moment he realised he had been staring at the prominent hickey on his collarbone. Christ, did he really give a fucking lovebite to his boss?

"You do not like me half-naked?"

Arthur frowned. "You answered me with another question. You can't do that."

"As did you."

"Yeah, well, it's nothing."

"Then it's nothing for myself as well." Francis gave him a cheeky smile. "I do not think you realise that you are also in the same position as I am."

Arthur looked down at himself. "What, this? This is normal."

Francis chuckled. "Eating cereal after sex?"

"No. Watching telly while eating cereal from the box in boxers is," Arthur corrected. "You, wearing no underwear under your designer trousers and lounging around in my shitty apartment, isn't."

Francis perched his chin on Arthur's knee. "Oh? So my actions are uncommon?" he murmured, reaching over to trace his fingers across the tattoo Arthur had on his inner thigh.

"Mm, extensively," replied Arthur, dropping his gaze to where Francis's hand was. "What are you doing?"

"I am asking you to come with me to Paris." A kiss was pressed to the tattoo and Arthur did his best to suppress the shudder which ran down his spine. "Will you come? It's a beautiful place." He placed another kiss.

"For business?"

"For leisure."

"No thank you."

Francis paused and he glanced up inquiringly. "You do not like Paris? We can go to Nice. It's warmer there," he offered.

"No, I meant I don't want to go," Arthur said, frowning disapprovingly. When Francis fell quiet, he flushed a little. "I just don't want to, alright?"

"If it is about money, you do not need to worry. I will-"

"No, I can't let you do that."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't."

"I cannot spend money for my lover?"

Arthur snapped his mouth shut and he looked at the man in astonishment, blinking slowly. He calculated his words, opening his mouth to speak but found himself quickly faltering when the weight of Francis's sank in.

_Lover._

He called him his lover.

Something shifted in the air and they were left staring at each other. Francis must have noticed the stricken look which had dawned on Arthur's face because he suddenly reached up and caressed his brow fondly.

"I want to spoil you," he admitted.

"You're ridiculous," Arthur stated weakly, his voice coming out as a harsh whisper. "We aren't…" he trailed off just as Francis leaned in and pressed a kiss which stole his breath.

"Aren't?"

"A friend of mine said we're fuck buddies. Because that's what we are, isn't it?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. We're lovers."

"Please stop saying that."

"No," Francis's lips quirked into a mirthful little smile. "I will keep saying it until you have accepted this fact." He resumed kissing his way up Arthur's thigh. "We share something beautiful, you think not?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Indeed," he grunted.

"Oh, did you just roll your eyes at me?"

"Yes, I did. Why?"

"You do know what happens when you roll your eyes at me, yes?"

Arthur froze. "Oh. God. No. You did not just…no." He pulled his legs up to his chest, much to Francis's disappointment, and stared down at him in horror. "I can't believe you just…you've read that shitload of rubbish?"

"Read what?" asked Francis, feigning innocence.

"Please tell me you did not get your inspirations from there. Please. I beg you."

"If I answered yes?"

"I will be pissed. I will be severely disappointed at your poor taste in literature. And then I will ask you to leave," said Arthur gravely.

"So you will throw your own superior out for indulging in the guilty pleasure of reading erotic books?"

"Poorly written erotica, yes. It's a justified action."

"Hm. Interesting. And if I answered no?"

Arthur paused for a thought. "I will still like you less."

Francis beamed. "Ah, so you do admit that you like me. Well, that makes me very happy."

"I - what? I-I never-" stuttered Arthur, flabbergasted. He gave a light shove to Francis's shoulder, only to growl when it did nothing to impede the brightening of those ridiculously dazzling eyes. "Oh piss it. Will you drop it, please? That smug look isn't going to alter the truth."

"Which is?"

"That I obviously don't fancy you."

"Oh? So how would you describe your feelings towards me then, mon chou?"

"Désir," he answered with as much indifference as he possibly could. It was not the exact truth but it was not a lie as well.

Silence hung in the air and for a moment Arthur was certain that he had royally screwed their sort-of relationship by stating something shamelessly shallow. He floundered at the thought, his mind reaching out to grasp at something or anything really to say, no, to amend his words. Rephrasing. Yes that seemed to be the only to save his relationship with his boss right now. _Not romantically_ , the small voice in Arthur's head reminded and he agreed. Well, of course not romantically. He just did not want it to be too awkward in the office. People have been talking (particularly and especially Yao) since they had started sleeping together and the last thing he wanted was for them to keep talking about more shit behind his back. Or, in Yao's case, rub it in face.

"Shit. Fuck. No, fuck. Um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – look, Francis," he began, cringing a little at the way the man's brows shot up to his hairline. "It wasn't suppose to sound like it sounded. I mean it was but not in that way. I mean, aside from the fact that I obviously find you buff and ludicrously attractive in ways that make me stop thinking and cause an erection to spring up and…shit." He buried his face in his hands, groaning. "I'm fucking gabbling again, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Fucking tits. I'm sorry. I keep swearing even though it's ungentlemanly. I've noted that down in my resolution and you can very well see how much that's working out for me and please tell me _why_ am I divulging these things to you?"

"Simply because," Francis simply said and Arthur looked at him in exasperation. "You really are quite the character aren't you, Arthur Kirkland." There was a trace of wonder in the tone of his voice as Francis stated this and before Arthur could attempt another explain of the obvious cock up with his words (because he obviously did not fancy Francis that much and of course he was obviously still straight because he still masturbated to cute, breasty women when Francis wasn't around), he climbed onto his lap and stole another kiss from him.

Of course, one thing led to another and well, although he wouldn't really outright admit it but Arthur was certain that there was no denying the fact that it was a very, _very_ good weekend.

 

* * *

 

"I'm really sorry for telephoning you so suddenly."

"No, no," Arthur fussed, shaking his head as he sipped at his tea. "It's fine, really. I'm not busy at all." Glancing up, he noticed the disapproving look Yao was fixing him with but he chose to ignore it. If the prick could cater personal calls on daily basis, why couldn't he attend to mate for a few minutes?

"Ah, is that so? Thank you. I won't take too much of your time, Arthur," Kiku replied, sounding a little relieved strangely.

"And I with yours. Aren't you in uni right now?" It was not often that Kiku called him, now that Arthur thought about it. It was usually the other way round, when he was intoxicated.

"Yes." There was a small pause and it almost seemed as if Kiku was carefully selecting his words. "I just…I wish to invite you to my cousin's engagement party," he said slowly.

Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise at this. Well, for one thing, such an invitation was really out of the blue and he wondered if Kiku was taking the mick because Gilbert had forced him at gunpoint (which wouldn't surprise him, really, given the prank calls Gilbert used to troll him with during his early days of settling in Elixir. But then again this was Kiku. He would never do such a thing towards him). Secondly, Arthur had a growing suspicion that an invitation was not the reason Kiku had rung him in the first place. It was definitely something else because if it was merely an invite, the man would have done so face to face with a scented handwritten invitation in tow.

"Oh," uttered Arthur intelligently. He took another sip of his tea before he resumed scrolling down Gilbert's obnoxiously lime themed blog. Not that he regularly checked it, of course (because that was a stupid thing to do since Gilbert blogs about anything and practically everything). He simply had nothing better to do then since Francis had been cooped up in meetings all morning. He grimaced at the uploaded photographs the man had posted in his latest entry, all of which were taken from their last outing. "Um, thank you," he continued once he realised Kiku was waiting for him to elaborate. "I'm flattered really, but are you sure that's wise? What with it being a family event and all. I mean, shouldn't you rather be inviting Gilbert instead? Surely your relatives are more likely to welcome a familiar face than a stranger like myself." He paused his scrolling and examined a picture. It was the one of Kiku and for some reason, something seemed off about it.

"I suppose," Kiku hummed in agreement. "Although, I'm afraid I'm a little too late to ask him. He's already decided to attend, even though I've never mentioned anything about the event to him."

"Huh," Arthur snorted. "Can't say I'm surprised. Well, you have your escort with you so I don't see why you needed to invite me. I wouldn't feel hurt if you didn't ask me, you know."

"Mm, yes, but…" Kiku paused. "Well, I apologise if this is a little too presumptuous of me but I do regard you as my family as well, Arthur. Alongside Gilbert and Feliks. I would be honoured if you could all attend. I'm sure my relatives would be excited to meet you," he said sheepishly in a small voice before finally adding, "If it's no bother that is."

Arthur was surprised by the confession and he fell quiet, allowing the weight of Kiku's words to sink into him.

Family, huh.

He leant back in his chair and a small laugh bubbled from his chest. He could not help it. Honestly, sometimes the things Kiku said were rather cute. Well, cute was probably was not the best way to describe his good friend, especially when they were both way past the age of being regarded as 'cute', but that was the best thing word to sum him up at the moment. Cute. Yes, Kiku was fucking cute alright.

"Well, I," he started, only to stop when another chuckle escaped him as he tried to gather himself. "Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. I just didn't expect…to be honest, I'm a little gobsmacked."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no. Please, don't get me wrong. I didn't mean it in a negative way. I'm just…well. Given the complications I've had in the past with…you know."

"Ah, yes. Again, I apologse."

"You really ought to stop apologising for trivial things."

"I'm so-I understand."

"Good on you. Now, about this party of yours…"

"Ah, yes, um, you needn't answer it now. I will send an invitation to you. Perhaps tomorrow, if that is alright?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Thank you."

"Not a problem."

There was a small pause and Arthur could hear Kiku shuffle some papers. "Is that all?" he asked slowly.

Kiku made a non-committal sound.

"What? Did that knobhead take your door apart again?"

"Well. Um. No. No, Gilbert hasn't been inconsiderate. He's, uh. It's…it's actually, um, something. Something else," Kiku mumbled, his soft-spoken voice quavering a little.

Arthur straightened in his seat. _So it really wasn't because of the invitation._ "Tell me," he coaxed.

Kiku hesitated. "I…I don't think…"

"Hey, come on now. You've had to deal with a crapload of my drunken calls. It's the least I could do. Please?"

"Alright," Kiku finally agreed. "I'm sorry for asking you but…I'm afraid I need some advice on a personal matter."

Arthur raised his mug to his lips. "Oh?" He did his best to keep the obvious surprise from his voice.

"Yes, I…I'm afraid if it will affect my role as a teacher."

_Well, well._

Arthur could not stop the grin which erupted across his face. "Go on."

"A student of mine is currently bearing feelings for me and I don't know what to do."

"Well fuck me. Does Gilbert know about this?"

"Um, no."

_Huh. That's a first._

"Good. Better not tell him or else he'll tweet it to the whole fucking world, thus actually jeopardising your position. So, how old is she? Is she fit?"

"Ah. Yes, well about that…" Kiku took a deep breath. "It's a _he_."

Arthur spilt his tea on his shirt.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where the whole world seems to be centred around Arthur's love life (ish) and therein raises the question of his joie de vivre. Whatever that is.

“It’s a _he_.”

Arthur’s fingers loosened and in less than a second, the front of his shirt was now sporting a big ugly stain. For one surreal moment, it almost felt as if it was _his_ life that was crashing around him. For a moment, it felt like that it was him who was backed into a corner, it was him tearing his hair out in frustration before finally snatching the phone and dialling the first person who came into mind.

“Arthur?” came Kiku’s voice, small and unsure.

With surprising grace, Arthur slowly set his mug down on his desk. “Don’t lie,” he croaked.

“S-Sorry?”

“Bollocks,” he said, his voice a little firmer this time. He could almost hear the cogs of Kiku’s mind turn in confusion.

“I don’t…”

“Well, for starters, you’re obviously not gay,” he asserted gruffly. “So I don’t understand how he could like you.” It took him a second to realise what he had just said and he almost smacked himself for his tactlessness. “N-Not that I’m saying you’re unlikeable, of course! You’re quite a good-looking bloke,” he quickly said.

 _And straight_.

Yes, Kiku was straight. He had to be straight. He was in love with or at least had been in love with cartoon girls with impossible bosoms back in uni and he still had a weak spot for fashionable coquettish girls. There was no way he could just _become_ gay overnight. It was just impossible. Why, it wasn’t like Kiku had turned gay because he did. Not that he had, of course. Technically he was not gay, even though he was sort of in a homosexual relationship with his boss.

“I-I see.”

“In any case, could you even be sure that this bloke likes you? I mean, it could have been a fluke. Did he send you a note or something? You know, there’s always a probability that he might have cocked up and slipped it in the wrong folder or something.”

“I suppose…” Kiku mused softly. “But I don’t think…it could be a mistake? He, um, made it clear.”

“Oh god,” Arthur blanched and lowering his voice, he hissed, “He fucked you, didn’t he?”

“Eh?” Kiku sounded genuinely confused.

“He fucked you? Or, oh crapulence, did _you_ fuck him?”

Kiku seemed floundered by this because there was a rather loud crash on his end and he sputtered for a moment, trying to find his words. “ _Asa_!” he cried out and it was the second time Arthur heard him slip into an accent.

Arthur cringed at his folly but he decided to push along with his train of thought nevertheless. “But isn’t that what they do though? Give lap dances for better marks? Or in this case, have a shag with their lecturer so they’d ace their assessment?”

Kiku made an affronted noise. “Perhaps in the media but not in my class. They’re all respectable adults, Arthur,” he stated, not sounding at all pleased.  
“Right, right. Sorry,” Arthur mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “So what did he do then? Surely not serenade you.”

“Serenade?”

“You know, the whole singing sort of thing? Kind of like in Romeo and Juliet. Although…” Arthur frowned, looking at fingernails and he noticed that they had been cut short. He wondered if Francis had done them when he was asleep. He curled his fingers in and tucked his hand away out of embarrassment. “I don’t think there was any singing there but I guess you sort of get the picture I’m trying to paint for you.”

“Hm. Yes, I understand. But,” He could tell Kiku was shaking his head. “No. It wasn’t anything flamboyant. He just…made some hints. And it’s sort of…accumulated.”

Arthur froze. “Accumulated? What, you mean this has been going on for a while now? How long?”

Kiku fell quiet at this, seemingly hesitant.

“Keeks?” he prompted in a gentler tone and his nose scrunched a little at how _foreign_ that name sounded as it rolled off his tongue. Huh, better leave that to Gilbert.

“About one semester,” the man finally answered, voice thick with discomfort.

Arthur’s jaw slackened and he sat there, staring off into the distance in bafflement.

One semester. One fucking semester.

That was longer than when he and Francis got together with their relationship sort of thing. It made Arthur wonder just how much suffering Kiku must have endured, just keeping all of this to himself for the past few months, and how or rather what divine force had actually caused Gilbert to overlook something like this. It just did not make sense. Like, back during their uni days, no matter where and what Kiku was up to, Gilbert _always_ knew. Arthur had often wondered how or rather why – but then again, this was Gilbert. He was a freak who could do things by his own rules and no one would reprimand him for his actions, let alone stop him. And so, to actually discover that the impossible notion of Gilbert not knowing is actually quite possible…it is a rather discomforting thought.

“Oh. Wow. Huh.” Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. “Is she, I mean, _he_ English?”

“Greek,” Kiku slowly replied after a beat of silence transpired between them.

“Shite.”

He tried to not think of how his stomach churned a little at the thought of Kiku going out with this Greek student of his, of how strangely uneasy it made him feel. Instead, he tried to hone his thoughts in on actually helping out his mate with this little crisis because who knows, maybe he could actually orchestrate a plan which would give Kiku the impetus to end this romantic entanglement.

“Hm. Right. Okay. So what exactly did you want me to advice you on?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder before he jumped at the sight of Yao standing before his desk with his arms crossed. He was peering at him through his new pair of stupid-looking hipster glasses with a disapproving look. “Jes-shit! Oh, no, not – um, look, I’m sorry but I don’t think I can stay on for long. Stupid chink-o-oh-” He paled. “Oh fuck, no, I-I mean, I have to go soon. Need to make a few copies of something shitty like potatoes,” he muttered in one breath, averting his eyes away from Yao so he would not see the rise of anger on his face.

_Shitting ducks._

Arthur cringed, mentally kicking himself as he did his best to stave off the urge to slam the telephone receiver down and abscond.

 _Stupid, stupid mouth_.

It could have been good timing or it could have been the fact that Kiku always had a knack for reading between the lines. Whichever it was, Arthur was grateful for it. It saved him the embarrassment of asking Kiku to hang up as the man made the move to end the call by briefly reminding him that he would stop over tomorrow to deliver his invitation. He agreed that it was fine.

“Sorry,” Arthur also apologised and Kiku chuckled, saying that it was fine and rather it was _his_ fault for calling during office hours. Honestly, Arthur did not think he had ever met anyone as profoundly self-incriminating as Kiku Honda. “But in any case,” he added. “I’m always around you know. I could ring you later and we can talk?” As a friend, it just did not sit right to leave things unfinished as it is. That, and he was sort of curious about this Grecian student.

The offer seemed appreciated and Arthur had really expected no less when Kiku said that he would think about it (which usually meant a no but perhaps this was an exception?). They exchanged brief goodbyes and even though the line went dead, Arthur did not lower his receiver. He could feel Yao’s gaze burn into the crown of his head and he held his breath, in the wild hope that the man would take the hint and leave him alone.

“And just how long do you think you are going to hold the phone like a stupid idiot? I know you’ve finished talking.”

Of course there was no such luck. Who was he deluding?

Holding back a sigh, Arthur’s shoulders slumped in defeat. In silent acquiescence, he finally lowered the receiver and turned to his senior with a shaky smile. “Hiiii,” he began lamely. “Can I help you?”

Apparently that caused a shrill sound to come out of the man’s mouth and Arthur snapped his mouth shut.

“ _Can I help you_? Huh! You listen here,” Yao leaned in and to Arthur’s surprise, his voice had lowered substantially to a whisper. “I know that you like to dump your girls easily like you dump your laundry – Hah? What do you mean no? Ehh! Suzie told me everything you know! Don’t lie, I know you and her go to the same university! Changing girls like cameras! – and while it disgusts me that you have actually stooped this low to start sleeping with Francis-” Arthur’s forehead creased at this. “-I will ask you one thing. Are you in love with him?”

Arthur stared at him blankly. “Huh?”

“Yes or no?” prompted Yao in a voice which sounded very much like a domineering mother.

“Now just wait a tick,” Arthur interjected with a wave of his hand, much to Yao’s displeasure. “I really don’t believe you’ve the right to be privy of my personal matters. Why are you asking me this?”

“Because if you are playing this game for too long, méi máo, you will die.”

_What. The. Fuck._

Before Arthur could even comprehend the cryptic message Yao had passed onto him, the man had skulked back to his desk and he resumed his previous activity of picking up the phone and prattling on to whoever it was about venue reservations. As if nothing had happened. The exchange had left Arthur’s mind reeling a little and he had to grab onto the edge of his desk to save himself from actually toppling out of his seat.

_In love? Die?_

His grip tightened on the wood.

_What was that about?_

* * *

 

“Seriously, why the hell is everyone getting into my bloody affairs?”

Arthur stared at the pile of papers before him in distaste. His feet dug into the ground, stopping the need to disappear into the coffee room for a second tea break and to resume reading the latest issue of _Him_ (no he was not skiving off, mind you).

It had only been an hour since the weird confrontation with Yao occurred and already the entire editorial wing was buzzing with talks of _You know, I heard Francis is likely to actually settle down for once_ and _Did you hear Arthur is his favourite right now – you know Arthur? The prick with the funny-looking eyebrows_ and _Francis hasn’t been over to the other divisions in ages – do you think he’s sticking to one lover now? Arthur’s a lucky bastard_ as well as _What they’re really not together?_ or _They’re together?_ or even _Why are they even together?_

Honestly, Arthur could not understand why everyone was making such a fuss about it _now_. So what if Francis had not been visiting the other divisions? He obviously had no business there in the first place. And what was this about the girls from Marketing slagging him off for being _desperate_?

He unceremoniously dropped a pile of papers on the table, uncaring if sheets went flying. “How the fuck have I been desperate?” he grumbled to himself as he began sorting them for photocopying. “I didn’t ask for any attention because he obviously came up on me.”

“Who did?”

Arthur’s hands flew up in surprise and it knocked over one of the piles. A cloud of unbounded papers went flying up into the air and before it rained down to the floor in a cluttered mess.

“Oh dear! Sorry!”

Arthur looked on in bewilderment as Belle rushed in, breasts bouncing with each hurried step. Her hands were wildly reaching out for any papers she could collect before they disappeared under the machines. “Um,” Arthur began intelligently after watching her comically prance around the room for a few minutes.

Belle paused and she turned to him, beaming. “Hi,” she greeted with a pretty flush to her cheeks. “I’m sorry you’re surprise.”

“Were surprised.” The correction came out without him meaning for it to but Belle simply giggled at this.

“Oh yes, sorry! I’m trying but I think I’m getting better?”

He could not help but smile a little at that. “You’ve improved since we’ve last spoken to each other, that’s for sure,” he agreed, finding that even though her accent was still a little heavy, he could understand her much better now than when they first met. He stepped forward to relieve her of the papers. “I’m sorry for the mess though. I’m a little clumsy as you’ve witnessed.”

“It’s cute about you,” she said. “I think that’s why Francis likes you.”

Arthur’s eyebrows pinched at that. He was fairly certain that his heart did not stutter at that. No it did not, of course it did not. There was no way his heartbeat increased a tad bit whenever Francis’s name was mentioned in a conversation because that was just stupid. He slowly deposited the papers on the table. “…you think?” he decided to ask slowly, casting her a questioning look.

Belle nodded enthusiastically. “I think you two are very cute together. Very good. I wish you happiness.”

“Whoa, whoa. What happiness?”

“Happiness of being together.”

“Happiness?”

“Yes, happiness!” she trilled with a delightful clap of her hands and a bright smile. “I think you deserve a boyfriend like Francis. He is good, not like Lauren from Marketing. She’s a bitch.”

Arthur stared at her in wonderment. Well, shit. A brutally honest response was not what he was expecting from a sweet-faced girl like Belle. He watched her continue to pick up the rest of the papers, unabashedly taking in the view of how her too short skirt clung at the right places. “Mr. Bonnefoy and I aren’t exactly together, you know,” he said coolly and he was surprised to see the scandalised look she threw at him. His shoulders grew rigid at this and he fought back the blush rose on his cheeks. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“What do you mean?” She set down the papers and tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Why is this so? You don’t loving him? You are not happy? You are not enjoying?”

“Not enjoying? What do you mean?”

“No…” she paused, waving her hand around as she searched for a word. “Joie de vivre?”

“I reckon I’m doing _fine_ ,” he replied stiffly.

“But?”

“But nothing.”

Belle did not look convinced. Arthur held back a sigh. “Can I ask you why are you asking me so many questions?”

“Because I want to know?” she said with a cheeky little grin. “Everyone keeps saying that maybe you are happy, that maybe you are not. But I am thinking that you must be because you look like you like being together with Francis.”

“Huh,” was all Arthur replied.

“Huh,” echoed Belle, giggling.

Happy, huh.

Was he happy? He supposed he was a little. He was no longer single now, so the notion – that a professionally stagnant and the only living specimen of caterpillar-browed humans could indeed find a little bit of joy in his jaded life (ones which did not come packed in a bottle of scotch) – did sort of constituted to his overall elevated state of mind. And yet the idea of togetherness, of being lovers. The commitment and emotional weight required to be carried in and invested…

_Why is everyone badgering me about this? What was wrong with being fuck buddies anyway? Sex with no strings attached was something everyone did! It wasn’t exactly everlasting happiness but short bursts of joy were not that-_

“Fuck…buddies?”

Oh shit, was he thinking out loud?

“Sorry, allow it,” he quickly said in the wild hope that Belle did not understand his rambling musings (which was probably slim to none) and he directed his gaze to his hands, watching them sort the papers for the second time that afternoon. “Anyway, how are you doing in Elixir so far? All good?” he asked, cleverly changing the subject and he was glad that she did eventually dropped the matter and began gossiping about the shenanigans the girls from Marketing had been up to. Especially the dirty details of how Lauren had split up with that Richie-Ricky-Mickey-what’s-his-face bloke from Finance. Cow.

“And it’s because she is saying that he wasn’t good at all! She’s have regrets for breaking up with you since you’re dating with Francis,” Belle was saying and no, Arthur’s stomach did not flutter in elation at the thought of his and Francis’s perceived togetherness. No, he did not believe he and Francis were sharing anything more apart from common lust for each other. And no, no, no, he had not just weighed the possibility that he and Francis could actually really be a thing and how this marked the end of his lonely jaded years because _hello there sir, here’s a free ticket for a rollercoaster ride of joie de vivre and l’amour!_

Arthur almost slapped himself. No, no, stop that dangerous train of thought because…well, was he even in love with men in the first place? Could he have actually, possibly been in love with men, all this time (if Feliks observation of the lifespan of his past relationships with women were of any indication)? Had he somehow unexpectedly developed quasi-romantic feelings for Francis Bonnefoy in the last few months?

Arthur’s gaze fell upon Belle.

Of course he was still ‘wild boy’ Arthur Kirkland. There was no fucking way he was in love with men and men like Francis Bonnefoy. He was fucking _straight_ for fuck’s sake because he still loved **tits**.

“…tits?”

Arthur knocked over a pile of papers. “Fucking fuck willy arse buggery _balls_!” he exclaimed, hands flailing exaggeratingly at the mess he had created out of his cursed clumsiness. He stole a glance at Belle and saw that she was looking at him, all eyes wide and brows raised. He let out a heavy sigh and without offering an explanation, decided to openly stare at her breasts in the hopes of feeling excited by their hidden pertness. His fingers twitched.

“Umm..” she began meekly after a long pause had developed between them but stopped when Arthur raised his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said in a defeated voice. “But I think I need to stop thinking about chest hair.”

“…okay.”

“Right,” Arthur shuffled towards the door. “I’m going off for a slash – I mean, I’m going to, um, actually no you better not – yeah. So, um, right then. Seeyas.”

“…okay?”

 

* * *

 

“I’ve just checked with Yao earlier. We have a choice of giving samples of either hand lotion, skincare or makeup. I’ll bring you the samples in the morning just in time for your meeting, Mr. Bonnefoy,” Arthur stated, checking a few things off the inventory in his phone.

Francis made a sound of agreement. “Is that all?”

“Um,” He did a final check. “Yes, that’s all.”

“Good.” There was a smile on Francis’s handsome face and he was raising his hand, extending it towards Arthur. “Come here.”

Arthur glanced behind him, expecting somebody like Yao to be standing there. There was nobody. When it became apparent that there really was no one else in the room and that no one was going to burst in any time soon, he pointed to himself and asked in disbelief, “What, me?”

“Yes, you.”

“You want me. To go there. As in there where you’re seated.”

“Oui oui.”

“Right there. Next to you.”

Francis’s lips quirked up in amusement. “Yes. Would you like me to draw you a map of my office? I was certain that you have memorised this area well, especially after that one evening when you were on my desk-”

“Mr. Bonnefoy!” Arthur hissed, his cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Th-That was–! Don’t bring that into this conversation because it’s unnecessary and – and that was a stupid and risky thing you coerced-!”

“Coerced, you say? I see we remember that evening differently,” Francis remarked, eyes dancing with mirthfulness. “Shall I relay you my anecdote? Of how I walked into my office one evening and found my employee sitting on my desk, wearing nothing bu-”

Arthur threw his hands up, letting out frustrated noise as he stormed his way over to his boss’s desk. “You are aggravating,” he stated the moment he stopped directly in front of it.

Francis merely chuckled at this and he raised his hand once more, beckoning him. “Please, come closer,” he said encouragingly.

“I’m already close.”

“But not close enough,” Francis quipped cleverly and Arthur cast him a look, not amused.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am serious,” Francis replied, even though there was no ounce of seriousness in his voice and was failing spectacularly in his perfunctory attempt at hiding his amusement. “Now come here, mon chou, or will I have to abuse my authority to make you come close to me?”

Arthur scowled before he reluctantly trudged around the desk and purposely left a foot’s worth of space between them before leaning against it. “There. Are you pleased? I’ve done as you’ve instructed, _sir_ ,” he drawled, inwardly pleased with the slightly disappointed look which crossed Francis’s face.

“Not quite,” came Francis’s reply. In one smooth motion, he turned in his chair and, grasping both of Arthur’s wrists, tugged him close. It resulted to Arthur standing right in between Francis’s outstretched legs. Arthur sucked in air, flustered by their position and he took a step back to re-establish the appropriate space between them. He bumped into the edge of the desk and frowned disapprovingly at the audaciousness of his boss’s actions.

“We are at work,” he reminded, quickly stealing a few glances at the glass walls of Francis’s office to make sure no one was peering in on them.

“Yes we are,” Francis purred, hands refusing to release Arthur from his grasp. In spite of his words, he drew Arthur closer yet again until there was very, very little space between them.

“You don’t give an arse about keeping this under wraps now, do you?” A lopsided smiled was all Arthur was received. He pursed his lips. “Well, in case you weren’t aware, _sir_ , people have been talking,” he added as offhandedly as possible whilst keeping his eyes trained on the man’s face.

Francis did not look at all surprised at this and he just said, “Oh?”

Arthur’s shoulders dropped. “Oh?” he echoed.

“What sort of things?”

“Well, things like how you haven’t been dropping by the other divisions,” huffed Arthur and he reached over to smooth Francis’s fringe to the side so he could see him better. “Things like how we shouldn’t be together. Things like, they’re all chatting all sorts of rubbish. I don’t understand why everyone’s suddenly harping on about it.”

“Hm.” Francis seemed unperturbed, almost as if he was quite blasé about the entire thing. It was a far cry from the internal turbulence Arthur had been experiencing all day and that made him feel a little bit frustrated.

“Seriously? ‘Hm’? That’s all you’re going to say?”

Francis reached up and brushed his thumb across Arthur’s brow. “Do you care if they talk?” he asked.

“No,” Arthur answered flatly.

“Then it doesn’t matter,” Francis murmured before he tilted his head upwards and pressed a quick kiss to Arthur’s brow. “The only thing that I care about is us.”

“Us,” repeated Arthur questioningly, not pulling away. He kept his head bowed, examining Francis’s eyes.

“Yes, us,” Francis grinned. His hands fell to Arthur’s collar and he deftly fixed the other’s tie as their eyes remained fixed upon each other. “We share something special.”

Special, huh.

Arthur ignored the way his heart leapt at the word.

“You’ve been wearing ties lately,” Francis then pointed out and Arthur could feel the tips of his fingers ghost across his collarbone. “It’s very attractive.”

Arthur snorted. “Well I wouldn’t have had to wear collared shirts if it weren’t for your stupid lovebites. And I suppose I would say the same to you but I don’t think I will. Reckon it’ll stroke your ego.”

“Heh, you think ill of me.” Francis gave a small affectionate pinch to Arthur’s nose, to which an aggravated squawk was won.

“You haven’t the faintest idea of what’s going on in my head.” Arthur batted his hand away. “Now tell me, why am I standing between your legs?”

“Well, at first I wanted to ask you where do you want to have dinner tonight,” said Francis smoothly. “However…” His hand was now on Arthur’s thigh. “I think that could be arranged on a different date. Your question is making me have second thoughts now because, you see, there are many great things you can do while standing between my legs, mon chou.”

“What you sayin’?” Arthur looked at him hard, wondering if it was a joke. “Fuck you,” Arthur eventually said and Francis burst out laughing. “Shut up. Fuck you!” he said again, this time through a hiss.

“Oh if you insist!” Francis gasped, catching his breath.

“No, don’t you bloody dare.” Arthur halted the hand that was trying to slide up his thigh. “I don’t want my clothes dirty.”

“What about the clothes I’d given you? You could wear those,” Francis said distractedly. “Where are they anyway? You haven’t worn them?”

“No,” Arthur answered truthfully.

Francis’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh.” He sounded genuinely disappointed. “You don’t like them? I thought they suited you.”

“Yeah, well. You think.” Arthur mumbled, fidgeting a little in discomfort. “I’ve no use for them. No occasion for it, really.”

Which was partially true. In actuality, Arthur had not removed any of them from their respective packaging and all the designer clothes Francis had (and rather effusively, if you asked him) gifted him were all stacked neatly in a pile in his wardrobe. Whenever he dressed in the morning, he tried not to acknowledge the fact that the pile steadily grew every fortnight. He had voiced his protestation against the clothes from the very start but Francis was tenacious in his decision and nevertheless kept swamping him with gifts whenever they met up because he insists that _It’s what lovers do, no?_

“So have you decided?”

Arthur blinked out of his wandering thoughts. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Will you come to Paris?”

“You were actually serious about that?”

“Yes, of course. I thought we should spend time together. Have a weekend getaway in France. Just the two of us.”

“With me. Why me?” asked Arthur feebly.

“Why? Oh la la, mon chou à la crème!” trilled Francis before he seized his face with both hands and planted a firm kiss square on his lips. Right there. In Francis’s glass-walled office. Everyone was probably watching from outside. They were kissing in public. At work.

Oh god.

Arthur pulled out of the kiss and stared at Francis, wide-eyed and slightly breathless. His mind was spinning, his lips were throbbing and his heart was pounding, pounding, pounding. “Mr. Bonnefoy!” he gasped out, disbelief ringing clear in his voice. “What was-y-you _just_ -! Everyone – why did–!”

“You are the reason of my _joie de vivre_.”

Arthur froze, slack-jawed. _What?_

“Come with me to Paris,” Francis was saying coaxingly and Arthur’s mind went blank. He slumped against the desk and gawked stupidly at his boss. He was still trying to shake off the initial shock from the kiss – still trying to make sense of it, really – and to have Francis say something so unexpected and out of the blue like that… It rendered him speechless. It made him feel light-headed, as if his head was being filled with helium – or rather, words. So many words. Words like happiness and togetherness and _joie de vivre_. What the fuck did joie de vivre mean anyway? The enjoyment of life? Wasn’t he enjoying life by living it anyway? And what was Francis going on about? Hadn’t Francis Bonnefoy – admirable, suave and in control – always had everything going _right_ in his life, as opposed to him – jaded, uncharismatic and socially inept – who did not? Why was he inputting fallacy – the idea that the Francis Bonnefoy actually does require and needed another person to fuel his enjoyment and love of life – into this mess? It just did not make sense.

“Arthur?” Francis’s hands were lingering by his collar once more and he was tracing the hem slowly, teasingly. “Will you come then, my darling?” he asked softly.

Arthur looked him in the eye and said no.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where he goes anyway and so many firsts happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, thanks for the comments and the kudos and bookmarks! I'm thrilled! And a little whoa because whoa.
> 
> Secondly, apologies for taking forever (roughly a month -cries) to update because of uni and deadlines and now that it's Easter break, you try to do shit but you can't do shit so yeah. I really tried. I hope this chapter came out alright. A small part of me wanted to upload this on my birthday (20/4) and another part wanted to upload on Arthur's (23/4) but then I got sick of writing and rereading and I was worried I'd end up writing forever. So it's gone up. Woop.
> 
> Thirdly, there's a shitload of FRUK in this chapter. Mhmm. And possibly a shitload of fail!French too. I tried.

“Shut it.”

“I did not say anything.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Smiling is not speech.”                                                                   

“Yes, well, but-” Arthur was awarded with a flash of Francis’s rather triumphant-looking smile and he held back an exasperated sigh as he leant back against their shared seat, trying to ignore the man in favour of reading.  He held his copy of _Him_ magazine high and buried his nose into it. “You’ve been smiling all the way. It’s annoying,” he grumbled.

“Well, you cannot blame me. I feel very happy,” said Francis brightly.

Arthur flipped to the next page. He tried to ignore how his heart was trying to claw its way up to his throat and forcefully swallowed it down.  “Hm, is that so,” he said, stilling his facial muscles into what hopefully seemed an apathetic mask.

“Oui, je suis content.  You have agreed to come and that is the reason why my world is shining brightly,” Francis stated.

Arthur snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.  I came because you forced me to.”

“Did I?”

“Mhmm.”

“How so?”

“Well if it weren’t for it being in the nature of a gift, I wouldn’t have given a fuck. However, since it is, I have no choice to accept.” He paused for a moment and thought back on how they had both hastily left the office together that evening, on the looks that were cast at their retreating backs, on the things that were whispered around the editorial wing.  “I’m not an absolute twat, you know,” he added softly.

“I wasn’t under the impression that you were, my darling.”

Arthur gave a non-committal hum. “So why the gift then?”

“I gathered this was the only way to make you come on this trip,” said Francis, chuckling. “I have long planned to make beautiful memories with you in Paris, my love, and what better way to do so than in celebration of your thirty-second birthday?”

Arthur froze and slowly, a stunned look rose on his face as he replayed Francis’s words.  He was floundered, really, not knowing quite what to say because how the fuck did Francis Bonnefoy know that he was turning thirty-two?

“Le vingt-trois avril,” intoned Francis with an upturn tilt of his lips which baffled Arthur. “J’ai raison, n’est ce pas?”

“Non, tu as tort. J’ai trente ans,” Arthur blurted out.

“Oh?”

“Huh?” said Arthur, in an attempt to throw Francis off the subject.  It was in vain though as Francis regarded him with much amusement.

“Hm, That’s odd.  I was certain that your file said you were born in 1980,” he said, smirking a little.

“Oh my god, you did not.” Arthur carted his hand through his hair (which he really ought to have cut – the tangles were irritating) and groaned. “Christ, I swear sometimes you are just impossible.  I can’t believe you actually went through company files to attain my personal information for your own benefit. That’s way out of order.”

“Our benefit,” corrected Francis brightly.

“Whatever. I’m crossed with you.”

“All is fair in love and war. Nevertheless, thank you.” Francis turned to face him and without warning, planted a kiss to Arthur’s shoulder.

“Hey.” Arthur cast him a withering look. “I thought we’d agree on no PDA.”

“Yes but that was in England,” responded Francis coolly.  “We aren’t in England now are we?”

“Well, I’d argue that we’re still under the English Bay, which does in fact belong to Britain so that rule does still apply,” said Arthur, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. “Plus,” He jerked his head to the right. “That woman over there. The one with the brown hat. Her eyes just bulged.”

“Lucky for her then,” murmured Francis and before he could try to kiss him again, Arthur executed a clever evading move by swooping down to pick up his bag and he dropped it between them to make (or rather, maintain) the space between them.

“No PDA,” he said once again with firmness and when he saw Francis’s face pinch in slight annoyance, he snorted with laughter. “What, so your weakness is being unable to be affectionate? Serious?” When Francis’s brows furrowed into a tighter line, Arthur’s lips stretched out into a grin. “Serious? Don’t lie now. You’re really not shitting me? Well, who would’ve thought.”

“Oh no, that is not the case, mon lapin,” interjected Francis and Arthur was gazing at him, a little dumbfounded upon being trumped.

“Wha-”

“My weakness is actually-” He suddenly leaned in close and his hot breath wisped across Arthur’s ear as he spoke in a whisper. “-not being able to make love to you _right now_. Oh, you cannot imagine the things I want to do to you, Arthur.  You’ve been looking sexy ever since we left the office.  It’s testing me, you know.”

Arthur tensed at this, his shoulders squaring a little as he cast Francis a sidelong glance from the top of his magazine.  He tried to ignore the rush of excitement which coursed through him at the imagery his boss’s words had conjured up and pursed his lips into a taut line, steeling himself against saying anything.  Francis seemed to pick up on this unfortunately (he had developed an uncanny ability to notice his mood shifts, Arthur realised) and he smiled triumphantly before ploughing on.  “Have you ever thought of having sex on a train?” he asked.

Arthur’s mind became blank for a second. “What?” he asked, cringing a little at how pitchy his voice had become.  He cleared his throat and gathered himself. “Sorry, what was that? I think you’ve lost me there.”

“Sex on a train.” It was said so casually and Arthur watched in bewilderment as Francis simply perched his chin on his hand, blithely disregarding the scornful looks that were thrown in their direction. “Surely such a fantasy has crossed your mind.” 

Arthur’s eyes darted here and there in a moment of uncertainty as he desperately clawed through his mind for a suitable comeback.  Or a scolding.  Yes, the latter seemed more appropriate. 

Arthur scoffed, “Well, of course I have. I am a man after all.”

Brilliant.

Francis was sending him a meaningful look, his eyes shining with terribly repressed lust and shit, it was _unnerving_.

“No,” Arthur chastised through a hiss. “We are not doing this.”

“Come now.” Francis smirked devilishly. “The lavatory is not too far.  Do you not want to?”

“Lavatory?” echoed Arthur incredulously.

“Lavatory,” Francis nodded.

“Lavatory. As in toilets.”

“Yes.”

“You’re mad.”

“Simply for you.”

It was surreal, really, the two of them speaking in hushed tones like this as if they were two roguish teenagers (though it was more on Francis’s part, really, in his attempt to insinuate himself in order to persuade Arthur into caving in).  It made Arthur feel rejuvenated once again – alive and excited – and he couldn’t help but welcome such a nostalgic feeling.

“Well?” Francis prompted with a wiggle of his eyebrows which Arthur found oddly charming for a man of his stature.  For a moment, it almost felt like he was looking into the face of a younger Francis and well, that was a fancy thought wasn’t it?  Imagine that, Francis Bonnefoy as a university student.  He was probably still as ridiculous stylish back then as he is now, donning a pair of glasses as he worked laboriously on his laptop with his beautiful hair all tied up in a loose ponytail and a half-smoked cigarette hanging between his lips…

“Well, shut up,” said Arthur gruffly before turned to face his magazine in an attempt to hide the small smile which threatened to climb on his lips.

“Hm, do you have a better idea?”

“Fuck you. I’m not going to be charged for exhibitionism.”

“Oh, but you do like the risk don’t you, you kinky little thing. The possibility of being caught. It turns you on.”

Arthur did his best to repress the shudder that ran down his spine and he let out a sharp breath though his nose.  It was infuriating how Francis could easily get under his skin.  “As if you wouldn’t be,” he countered in a low voice, keeping his eyes trained on the magazine.  Aware of the attention Francis had placed on him, he slowly moistened his lips. “Why, you’d like it if I bound your hands together tightly because the possibility of you being seen in such a helpless position.  It thrills you too, doesn’t it?”

Francis shifted in his seat and he leaned his weight against Arthur’s side in order to whisper a low, husky “Touché, mon chou” into his ear. 

Arthur pursed his lips into a firm line and he observed how his boss slowly rose from his seat, how his hand had deftly swept across the back of his, how he had purposely, _meaningfully_ brushed his knee against his thigh before he languidly made his way towards the back of the car.

After allowing a few seconds to pass, Arthur released a breath he had not realised he had been holding in and lowered his magazine.  He closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to regain his lost composure.  “This is stupid,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. “This is fucking stupid.  I can’t believe-”

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Steeling himself, Arthur fished it out and in slight reluctance, opened the text message he received.

**Francis Bonnefoy**

**Did I mention that I currently have our handcuffs in my possession?  I don’t think I did.  Oh dear, silly me.**

**19:41**

“Shit.”

Arthur’s grip tightened around his phone and he really, _really_ tried to ignore the fact that an erection from was slowly forming in his trousers because of it.

“Shit.”

Not good.  This was not good at all.  Fucking Europeans and their stupid bravado and their attractiveness and _god fucking dammit._

Arthur quickly made his way to the toilets.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, can I say something?”

Francis hummed in acknowledgement as he collected their room key from the receptionist at the same time Arthur had relinquished their luggage over to the bell boy with an awkward nod.  “Anything, my love,” he said as Arthur flanked him.

Casting a quick glance over his shoulder towards the reception desk, Arthur tugged Francis to side and he lead him across the lobby, passing a spaciously pleasant lounge. “You know, that guy at the desk.  He was eyeing us strangely during the whole time we were checking in.  Perhaps somewhat sceptically, if you ask me,” he observed in a low voice. 

“Oh was he?”

“He was. And he’s still doing it. What’s his problem? Surely it can’t be because I’m English now, is it?  Because that’s just shite and downright rude.”

“Why! Arthur, my dear!” Francis threw his head back and he was laughing gaily.  The sound, warm and hearty, had not failed to attract the attention of many patrons around them.  While Arthur had gotten a little used to amount of attention Francis tended to gather wherever he went, he was still unused to the degree of focus people bestowed on him (not them – never them – because why the fuck would anyone want to stare at a caterpillar-browed person like himself?).  It was precisely what he was facing with right there and then. The hotel guests – both male and female, old and young – were openly staring at them with such brazenness that it became slightly uncomfortable.  It made Arthur’s cheeks flush in colour with discomfort and out of embarrassment, he bumped his shoulder against the Francis’s.

“Christ, why the fuck are they staring now?  Tell me I didn’t do something well stupid.  Because if I didn’t, then I clearly can’t see why-”

“It’s because of this.”

“Huh? What are you-”

In one pivotal step, Francis steered Arthur by the crook of his arm towards the elevators and it was only then did Arthur catches a blurred view of his bedraggled appearance reflected off the polished elevator doors. 

“Oh my god.”

Francis wrapped his arms around his middle in a blatant attempt of containing his amusement.

“You absolute _penis!_ ” Arthur burst out, gesticulating wildly towards his reflection.  “You– no don’t touch me fuck you–you just–!  Why didn’t you tell me that my blazer was inside out all this time?  A-And my shirt is all wonky with the buttons all wrong and now the whole of Paris knows that I wear Topman and I look like an absolute git and what the actual _fuck_?” Arthur lunged forward to assess his reflection before he reached up in a vain attempt to flatten his unruly mop in a flurry of shaky hands. “Mr. Bonnefoy, what the fuck did you do to my hair? Wha-was _this_ why that fatarse was staring? Because you fucked my hair up?  What did you tell him?  I swear to god if you told him that we were-!”

“Train wreck,” Francis suddenly said.

Arthur’s shoulders deflated and he stared at him, at a loss. “Hah?” he said, blinking stupidly.

“Train wreck,” Francis repeated, smiling. “I told him that we were involved in a train wreck.  Ingenious, yes?”

A low strangled noise came from Arthur’s throat and it only made Francis burst into more peals of laughter.  Arthur could only stare at him in a mix of bewilderment and slight disappointment. “And here I thought that you would be smart in coming up with excuses,” he said. “Honestly. A train wreck.  Really?  Tell me, what are the chances of Eurostar crashing?  Actually, you know what, I don’t want to know so don’t bother answering that.”

The elevator doors suddenly slid open and an elderly couple stepped out, chirping greetings at them.  Arthur returned a polite nod to them before he quickly ducked into the car, dragging Francis along with him by his arm.  He blindly pressed a button and the doors slid shut behind them.

“You know what, I‘m gutted,” Arthur continued as the elevator began its ascent. “I thought lovers were supposed to be kinder and considerate to each other.  Not become menaces.  You know, you are probably one of most unreasonable knobheads I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.”

“You spew poison!” gasped Francis. “Of course I am kind to you, mon chou!  What I had done was involuntary, please believe me.” Arthur snorted at this. “Come now, do not sulk. A face as beautiful as yours does not deserve to be pinched in moroseness.”

“I am not sulking,” Arthur said sulkily as he peeled his blazer off and turned it inside out.  Well, he supposed it was a good thing that it was late at night and that they had mutually agreed to check in at the hotel the moment they left Gare du Nord.  He would probably collapse in on himself in sheer embarrassment if he had found out about his shitty appearance in a fancy department store or worse, some classy restaurant. “And would you please stop calling me beautiful?  I’m not a woman you know.”

“Ah but I am not implying that you need be a woman.  You are already beautiful in my eyes, Arthur, regardless of your sex.” Francis said, leaning in to press a kiss against Arthur’s ear. “Always so, so beautiful.”

“Oi oi. What did I say about the PDA?” Arthur reminded as he pulled his blazer on.  The right way round of course, he made sure of it.

“Mhmm but we are in France so I think I’m right to correct you that the rule has been nullified,” said Francis with knowing smile before he tilted his head to the side and kissed Arthur on the lips.  When Arthur made no indication of moving away, Francis’s hand grasped his hip possessively and without any need for verbalisation, they moved in sync, going back two steps as they kissed aggressively until Arthur’s back was pressed against the wall.

“Which floor? I need to-” Arthur let out a shaky pant between their lips as he broke for air from their heated kiss.  Keeping their faces close, he blindly reached to the side for the buttons as Francis snaked his tongue out to lick his bottom lip.

“Douzième,” replied Francis huskily and his hands were moving across Arthur’s body with a newfound resolve of shedding his blazer off.  Arthur hissed disapprovingly at this and he nipped at Francis’s lip.

“Would you control yourself – we’re in the fucking elevator-!” Arthur threw his head back against the wall, swallowing back a gasp as Francis’s hand caressed his side.  He could feel the tips of Francis’s fingers skim across the hem of his trousers and he shuddered in excitement. “-weren’t you already satisfied – we just shagged on fucking Eurostar of all places–!”

A small ping resounded around them and the elevator suddenly came to a stop.  Arthur gave a pat to Francis’s shoulder and they pulled away from each other, casually fixing their attire to appear decent just as the doors slid open.

“Oh!”

Arthur felt a small wave of panic rise in him and he glanced up with a French apology readily constructed in the back of his mind.  He was confused however to find himself looking at an unfamiliar face who was blinking at them with recognition.  Or rather, blinking at Francis with recognition.  Arthur turned to Francis, opening his mouth to ask when a bright smile bloomed on the man’s face.

“Oh la la la! Nirand?”

“Francis!” The bespectacled man – Nirand – beamed and hopped into the elevator, clasping the hand Francis extended towards him, giving it a hearty shake before kissing both cheeks.  The two men exchanged pleasantries in French (fancy that, an Asian fluently speaking French!) and Arthur watched them, a little intrigued by how comfortable they were standing in each other’s personal space as they chattered on about, from what he could understand, holidays and busy schedules and weddings.  Huh.  What a rarity it was to run into a friend of Francis.  It was a bit of a refreshing sight, he had to admit.  Seeing how occupied the two were, Arthur made an attempt to scoot over to the passenger controls.

“Oh, dear me! I’m so sorry!  Please forgive me, Arthur dear!” cried Francis, who seemed to have finally taken notice of Arthur and Nirand turned to him, his handsome face lit up with interest.  “Nirand, please, this is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. He is with me.”

An amiable smile rose on Nirand’s lips and he took a step forward, offering his hand with an air of friendliness. “Bonsoir. Nirand Rattanakosin. I’m very pleased to meet you, Arthur,” he said in good, clear English.

“No, no, please,” Arthur took the proffered hand and he returned him a small, polite smile. “The pleasure is all mine, er, Neuron, I-I mean, Nirand.  I’m really sorry. I’m never any good with names.”

“Please, don’t worry about it. Thai names have never been the easiest on tongues,” chuckled Nirand.  _Ah,_ Arthur nodded, _Suspected much._ “I apologise for not introducing myself first before launching myself at Francis.  I was very surprised to meet him again, and here of all places.”  He flashed Francis a charming grin. “It’s been a long time since we’d last seen each other.”

“I see.” Arthur glanced between them. “Oh, are you by any chance also an editor?” he asked, a little sheepishly when Nirand’s bright eyes peered through his glasses inquisitively at him. “I mean, I don’t mean to assume but I figured since you and Francis are well-acquainted…”

“Non, non, mon chou,” interjected Francis with a chuckle as he patted Nirand’s back (whilst completely disregarding the stern look Arthur cast at him, unbothered with revealing the intimacy between them to his friend).  “He may not look like it, but he is actually quite a notable fashion coordinator.  We got to know each other well when I attended one of the London Fashion Weeks he was working on a few years ago.” Francis actually looked rather proud of his friend as he said this and it made Arthur feel strangely…envious.  Because he had nothing. 

Nothing worth showing off that is.

Arthur swallowed back the lump in his throat and he shuffled his feet a little, feeling rather small. “No shi – I-I mean, well, wow.  Just, well, that’s…that’s quite an achievement,” he said feebly. 

“Oh no, not really. It’s not that great really,” Nirand said modestly, blushing a little. “It’s not as glamourous as it sounds.”

“Yeah, but,” Arthur began but stopped because the elevator had suddenly come to a stop and the doors slid open, revealing the lobby once more.

“Ah, yes, I was just heading down for a drink at the bar. Would you care to join me?” Nirand asked with a disarming smile and Arthur wasn’t really sure just who was he addressing to.

Francis’s face pinched into an apologetic look. “Ah, perhaps-”

“Go ahead,” Arthur interjected and it caused both men to direct their attention at him.  He tried not to shrink under their gazes.

“Arthur?” Francis’s brows were raised in question.  “You are not coming?” There was a small lilt of disappointment in his voice and Arthur couldn’t help but smile a little at it. 

He shook his head. “You go on and enjoy yourself,” he said, nodding towards Nirand. “I’m sure Nirand would appreciate sharing a pint with an old friend.”

“Yes but….”

Arthur cocked his brow and god, wasn’t that strange?  It wasn’t often he would see a hesitant look upon on Francis’s face and he had to admit that it was a little endearing.  He allowed a small smile to grow on his lips before he reached over and touched the small of Francis’s back. “It’s fine,” he said reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I want to take a rest anyway.”

Francis looked like he was going to protest but after a short pause, he relented. “Alright then,” he said, returning Arthur’s smile with one of his own.  He gave Arthur a gentle pat on his cheek before he stepped out of the lift. “I won’t take too long.”

“No, no. Take all the time you need. You’ve the spare key after all.”

“D’accord. À tout à l’heure,” was the last thing Arthur heard and he caught a glimpse of Francis’s hand settling against the small of Nirand’s back just as the doors slid shut.

“Yeah. Laters,” Arthur sighed wistfully to himself.  He was aware of how his voice echoed around him in the emptiness of the elevator and after staring at the passenger controls for three long seconds – waiting, waiting, _waiting for what?_ – he finally reached over and pressed button number twelve.

The elevator jolted to life and made its ascent.

 

* * *

 

Arthur stirred and he blinked a few times, peering into the dimness of the room.  He could see the rays of sunshine filtering through a small crack in the curtains and whilst letting out a big yawn, he groggily wondered how long had he been sleeping.

“Ten hours.”

Arthur blinked, suddenly feeling very, very awake and he slowly rose from his comfortable position in his nest of tangled sheets.  He found himself face to face with Francis, who looked rather comfortable at the foot of the bed in a bathrobe. “I’m…I’m sorry?” Arthur croaked out, voice scratchy from sleep.

“I returned a little late last night and found you already asleep,” explained Francis, reaching over to brush a strand of Arthur’s hair away from his face. “I think you were sleeping for ten hours.  I’m sorry you were so tired.”

“Why are you apologising?” _That’s Kiku’s thing,_ Arthur idly thought as he fought back another yawn.  “It was night time after all,” he added, shoulders sagging in contentment as Francis tenderly ran his fingers through his hair. “And it had been a long day then. A really long day. Full of activities.”

“Activities?” Francis questioned, the corner of lips tugging up in amusement.

Arthur nodded. “Yes. Stupid ballsy activities which could have gotten us arrested.  Did you sleep last night by the way? I don’t think I felt you beside me.”

“Mm, I did. But you took all the sheets, mon lapin,” Francis chuckled before he pressed a trail of affectionate kisses across Arthur’s mouth (there was a touch of mint on Francis’s lips), the tip of his nose and the edge of his brow. “So I decided to watch you as you slept. Good morning and happy birthday, my love.”

Arthur felt a warm bygone feeling settle in the pit of his stomach – _security?_ – and overcome by a rush of embarrassment, he poked Francis’s forehead with his index finger.  “Wow, you’re all fresh and minty and I’m just plain disgusting from waking up.  Hm, good morning to you too,” Arthur mumbled as he raised his chin and pressed a kiss to Francis’s lips. “And thanks, I guess.  You’re a little early you know.  I mean, my birthday isn’t until like tomorrow or something.”

“My, my. You are not aware that today is the 23rd?” Francis hummed, eyes dancing in mirth.

Arthur gaped at him.  “What?”

“Truly!” trilled Francis and getting on all fours, he gently pushed Arthur back onto the mattress and began planting a trail of kisses across his face. “If you don’t believe me, I can call the desk for a confirmation.”

“What? No! Don’t do that! That’s a stupid thing to do, you muppet!” Arthur cried.  He pressed the heels of his palms against Francis’s jaw and pushed his face away. “Get off me.”

“Not until I give thirty-two kisses to you,” chuckled Francis, kissing him sloppily and uncaring where it landed. “Thirty-two kisses for my thirty-two year old love on his thirty-second birthday,” he hummed. “Mm, you age beautifully like wine, my dear. I want to lap you up.”

“Fuck you I’m thirty,” Arthur insisted, chuckling. “I swear if you don’t get off me this instance, Francis, I will throw you off this bed.”

“What?”

“I said I’ll chuck you so don’t you dare underestimate me.”

“No, no. Before that.” Francis had paused his trail of kisses and he lifted his chin to meet Arthur’s gaze.  There was a look of wonder on his face. “You called my name.”

Arthur blinked at him. “I did?”

“Yes.” Francis pressed his nose against his cheek in affection. “Yes, you did. It sounded beautiful.”

_It sounded natural._

“Huh.” Arthur looked to the side, brows pinched together in slight puzzlement. “Fancy that.”

Really, he did not expect Francis’s name to tumble out as easily like that.  The usual weight of reluctance, the resilient reminder that he and Francis were nothing more than boss and subordinate who were conveniently just feeding off on each other, the little things which had always held him back and anchored him to reality…

“Say it again,” Francis suddenly pleaded in a whisper and Arthur’s eyes grew wide, his heartbeat stuttering.

“What…you mean…” Arthur dared to meet the man’s gaze and he licked his lips before he slowly shaped the name on his tongue, rolling it around as if tasting its richness.

“Francis.”

It came out as a drawl and he was suddenly rewarded with a kiss.

“Again.” The word ghosted across their connected lips.

Arthur released a shaky breath. “Francis,” he breathed.

Another kiss, this time a little fiercely.

“Again.”

“Francis.”

“Yes. Again,” moaned Francis, nipping his lips as his hands desperately tugged at Arthur’s shirt. “And again. Please don’t stop.”

“Francis.” Arthur shuddered at the pleading sound and arousal flared up inside him, shaking him to the core.  He snapped his hips up to meet Francis’s and gasped, “Francis. Francis. _Francis._ ”

 

* * *

 

“You know I can’t believe you actually got so high just from hearing your name,” Arthur said, setting the razor down as he assessed his clean shaven face in the mirror.  Taking Francis’s aftershave (he wondered why the man really bothered bringing one around since he rarely shaves in the first place), he slapped it on and smiled a little at the good familiar scent.  “You went mad like, shit Francis. Settle down a little yeah?  If you reacted like this every time I call your name, it would be problematic.”

“Oh but how can I?” Francis’s voice wafted through the small space where Arthur had left the door slightly ajar.  “The way you say my name simply alights me with such passion that I simply could not contain it.  It’s such a rarity.  What has made you bold so suddenly?”  His voice was bouncing off the walls and Arthur needn’t to look up to know that the man had just entered the bathroom and perched himself on the edge of the bathtub. “Have you finally acknowledged the fact that we are truly lovers?”

“Huh. Think what you like,” snorted Arthur as he combed his fingers through his damp hair and tugged at the tangles in distaste. “Though mind you that this doesn’t change anything. I mean, just because I’ve caved into the idea of actually calling you by your Christian name doesn’t necessarily equal I’ve fallen so into you. I just think that it’s appropriate.”

“Appropriate?” asked Francis curiously.

“As in…” Arthur stared at his reflection thoughtfully. “You’ve done so much and yet I’ve given you little. I’m not exactly the most romantic of men. I used to think I was because girls told me so. But then I realise, after meeting you…I don’t think I really understood this stupid thing called love. Because all the things…the little things that you do to me are just…”  His lips pulled into a thin line. “Sorry, I’m not making any sense.  My brainpower’s really low after that round and, shit, that lovebite on your shoulder is stupidly prominent.  I don’t remember putting that there though.  Huh.  Anyway, I don’t think we can use the pool anytime soon so-”

A sudden weight pressed against his back and it took Arthur a few seconds to realise that Francis was hugging him from behind.  And he was laughing, puffs of his breath sweeping across the side Arthur’s cheek in minty bursts.  Arthur could almost feel the warmth of his merriment seep into his back and rather than feel annoyed, he felt somewhat content. “Oh, my sweet Arthur,” sighed Francis. “You really are one of a kind.”

“Okay,” said Arthur. “I’d attempt to persuade you to digress from that assumption but okay.”

“You speak too much.”

“I thought you liked my voice, _Francis._ ”

“Oh you are terrible. Are you asking for another round?”

“Shut up, you horny fucker,” chuckled Arthur as he resumed combing his hair. “God I hate my hair. It’s not effortless like yours. Tell me, have you always been blessed with a silky mane?”

“Are you calling me a horse now?”

“Never even thought of it!” cried Arthur, bursting into laughter. “You brought that up on yourself.”

Francis responded with a non-committal sound before he simply tightened his embrace and Arthur sort of just sank back into it because _huh, this is sort of…lovely_.  He felt at ease.  He kind of liked this.  The feeling of being comfortable, of simply being held in a someone’s arms.  A man’s arms.  It used to always be the other way around, him holding women.  Emotionally demanding and unnecessarily complex women.  Women who were probably and arguably the actual emotional fuckwits in relationships.  Why, was this a perk of being gay?

Wait.  What?

Who said anything about being gay? 

What was wrong with being gay?

Wait, _what_?

“May I cut your hair?” Francis suddenly asked, his voice successfully halting Arthur’s thoughts before they spiralled off into a chasm of ridiculousness.

“Huh?” Arthur gaped at him through their reflection. “What? Why?”

“A gift,” answered Francis simply.

“A gift?”

“Yes.”

“I thought this trip was the gift.”

“It was one of the gifts.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, not joking. This haircut will the first of today.”

“The first? What, you’re seriously not planning to bombard me with more clothes again now, are you?”

Francis’s lips quirked up. “Maybe.”

Arthur gave him look. “Right. Look, I appreciate the sentiment but I think we both know that you’re not a hair dresser. And even if you claim so, you’ve got no tools.”

“I have scissors.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Arthur watched in bewilderment as a pair of scissors were procured out of Francis’s bum.  Well not really but it could have very well been because seriously did Francis actually walk in, carrying a pair of scissors in the hopes of actually hacking his hair off?  Why was he even bringing scissors on this trip?  No, no, Jesus fucking Christ, how long had he actually _planned_ to do this?

“You are not touching my hair,” Arthur said a little horrified.

“Please? I have something in mind and I promise you, you will look stunning,” insisted Francis and oh god, was he actually _pouting_ at him?

Why did this feel a little…déjà vu?

Arthur shook his head and hardened his gaze. “No.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come, it will be good.”

“What good? I’m sorry Francis but you aren’t touching a single hair on my head.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“You can top me.”

“ _What?”_ Arthur turned red.“Tha-That is-!”

“What do you say?” Francis’s hand slid down his side and he teased the fold of Arthur’s towel. “You know you can always take charge of me whenever you want to.”

“What, is this like another gift of yours?” When Francis cast him a meaningful look through their reflection his heart almost stopped because _what the actual fuck is he serious what sort of shit is he setting up how the fuck am I supposed to be top this bonafide sex god of wholesome wangs fuck fuck fuck-_

Arthur frowned at him. “Fine,” he said finally. “But I’m not caving in because you said that stupid crap about topping or whatever.  It’s not like the idea excites me or anything so don’t start looking pleased because you think you’ve won me over.”

“I will not disappoint then.” Francis pressed his nose into Arthur’s hair. “Merci.”

 

* * *

 

“What. The fuck. Did you do.”

Francis took a few steps back to assess his work and he gave it an approving nod.  The bastard actually looked so proud of himself.  “It looks perfect,” he crooned.

“It’s shitty,” Arthur said, deadpan as he assessed the damage inflicted on his poor unruly mop…which still looked unruly but in a sort of manageable unruliness in spite of its cringingly short length.  “Seriously, what the hell.  My fringe is almost non-existent and my eyebrows are really obvious now.  And fuck they’re so-”

“Beautiful,” interjected Francis.

“Fucking ridiculous,” corrected Arthur bitterly.

“Come now, I think they are charming and full of character.  I don’t understand why you think so lowly of them.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you can understand,” snapped Arthur, cringing a little at the harshness of his tone.  He stared hard at his reflection. “People have always made fun of these fucking caterpillars.  And it’s not like I can’t do anything about them.  I mean, I’ve shave them off in the past but they just grow back even more stupider than before.” He released a heavy sigh, running a finger across his fringe. “So I gave up and just hid them because that way it’s no bother to anyone.  And it’s worked out fine, you know, and now-”

“Fuck those people.”

Arthur looked at Francis in disbelief, his train of thought derailing almost immediately.  ‘ _Did he actually just swear?’_ he thought incredulously.  He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find his voice and his words and his thoughts, before he finally croaked out an “I’m sorry?” in the awkward pause which fell between them.

Francis bent his body forwards and placed his hands on Arthur’s knees.  He levelled their gazes so he was looking directly into Arthur’s eyes.  “You are an exceptionally beautiful man Arthur Kirkland. Don’t let people tell you otherwise. You might not think I’m sincere but I swear to you on my heart that you really are a gorgeous man.  Inside and out.  I didn’t cut your hair to spite you, my love.  Believe me, I did it to enhance your beauty.”

“Right. Sure.”

“Truly. Your eyebrows brings out the sharpness and colour of your eyes. Have I ever told you how much I love them?”

“All the time.”

“And you have heard the phrase? That the eyes are the windows to one’s soul?”

“Of course.” Arthur shifted on the edge of the bathtub. He wasn’t sure if he liked where the conversation was going.  “Everyone has. Look, let’s just-”

Francis brought his hands up and he cupped the sides of Arthur’s face, bringing their faces close until the tips of their noses touched.  “I want to gaze into your soul, Arthur,” he said gravely. “I want to see everything.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed in bewilderment. “Everything?”

“I want to see the love.”

“Love?” scoffed Arthur.

“Yes,” confirmed Francis, unsmiling for once. “I want to see your love. Your hate. Your happiness. Your sadness. Your honesty. Your lies. Everything.”

Arthur fell silent and after one, two, three seconds, he slowly released the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.  Something shifted then.  Arthur could feel it in the air, gliding across the hairs on his arms and snaking its way into his heart.  He swallowed back the lump in his throat and his fingers curled by his sides because he was uncertain with what he should do at that moment, with what he should say.  It was one thing for Francis to cut his hair to make him look decent and arguably more attractive (he still wasn’t convinced, sorry), but to cut his hair for the purpose of seeing his true self?  What true self?  Hadn’t he always been transparent with Francis all this time?  Hadn’t he always, and without fail, constantly reminded themselves – _himself_ – that there was nothing developing between them?

Unless.

There was.

There had.

There always had and that in actuality, there had always been a something which he had always refused to acknowledge and swept under the carpet.

Could it be that he had actually been lying to himself all this time?  Was he deluding himself with the fabrication of a false reality where, at the end, they both would just walk out of all of this as if nothing had happened?

As if the three months of nude sleeping, heated kisses and comfortable ‘eating-cereal-from-the-box-whilst-wearing-nothing-but-boxers-and-designer trousers’ telly watching had never happened?

As if Francis’s ‘mon chou’s and ‘I love you’s were for nothing?

For some reason the thought made him uncomfortable.  It was like staring into a room which had no windows.  An apparent feeling of knowing that a something was out of place, that a something was missing. A piece of him would be missing.  The Francis piece.

“Shit,” Arthur whispered.  He wasn’t sure when he’d reached up to clasp Francis’s hand, but he was currently pressing it firmly against his cheek as if not doing so would shatter the moment they were sharing.

“Arthur?” Francis asked and for the first time, Arthur felt like he was looking at the man.  Really looking at him.

Why, could it be that the happiness and love he had been curious of and longed and looked for in the pieces of literature he studied a decade ago was actually staring at him in the face all this time?  Could he be the Agnes Wickfield to his David Copperfield? 

“It’s you?” asked Arthur, looking baffled.

Francis returned him a puzzled look. “Hm? What do you mean?”

Arthur tugged Francis’s hand past the shell of his ear, towards the back of his head and he ran their joint fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.  “It’s you,” he said once more.  He was aware that it didn’t sound like a question now.

“Yes, it’s me.” Francis’s other hand caressed his cheek gently and he leant in to press his forehead against Arthur’s. “It’s always been me.”

A small portion of Arthur’s mind noted how this felt like a game.  A game which neither of them knew the rules of and yet they simply played along with it, making things up along the way.  _A treacherous love game,_ sneered the little voice in the back of his head and Arthur willed it away, focusing on the dazzling blue hue of Francis’s eyes.

“It’ll take forever to get used to this,” he slowly admitted.  Deep down, however, he wasn’t entirely sure just to what exactly it was he was referring to.

“I can wait forever,” said Francis simply, curling his fingers against Arthur’s scalp, massaging it fondly.

“Really now.”

“For you, I can wait until the next life and the next.”

Arthur quirked his brow. “What, you’re a Buddhist now?”

“No. But if reincarnation really does exist then I wouldn’t mind being one if it would fulfil my wish of staying with you. Nothing means more to me than you being by my side and filling me to brim with so much love and happiness.”

There was a lovely cluster of warmth which grew in his belly as Francis said this – the sort of good magical warmth you would get when you clasp your hands around a hot cup of tea – and Arthur sighed, expelling some of the giddiness from his body in an attempt of trying to keep his composure.  He was not a woman.  He will not be easily swayed by the bewitching words of this ridiculously incredible man.  “You know, sometimes the things you say is unbelievable,” he said truthfully. “I question it sometimes. Like, do you conjure these words from thin air or is this scripted to make me feel like I’m on top of the world?”

Francis let out a small bark of laughter, his minty breath sweeping across Arthur’s lips. “No script. All of these are words straight from the heart.”

“Well, it’s a little too good to be true,” Arthur remarked.

“Everyone needs a dose of magic sometimes, even you Arthur.  But in your case, I’ll always give you magic if it helps me win your smile.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted in amusement and Francis was positively beaming at this, French praises falling from his lips. “You’re _really_ that into me?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, still in slight disbelief.

“I’m very into you. Ever since that moment I found bacon in your hair.”

Arthur groaned, pulling his head back to bury his face his hands. “Oh shut up. I was hungover and all shades of uncool.”

“Quite the contrary, mon chou. I think you’re very cool.” (Arthur couldn’t help but raise his brows at this because seriously Francis saying ‘cool’ was probably one of the coolest things to happen today, alongside the swearing) “You’re like a breath of fresh air to my dull life. There’s always something unexpected and new whenever we are together.  Honestly Arthur Kirkland, where have you been all my life?”

“I’ve been sitting behind a desk in your department for the last two years,” replied Arthur and at Francis’s bemused look, he gave him a smile.  A genuine smile which reached his eyes for once. “Who would have thought. Francis Bonnefoy. Attracted to a man with a head sprinkled with bacon.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Author's Note:**

> It took me a while to settle with names for nations who haven't really been given an official name. So, just to clarify, Juan is Cuba and Elise is Lichtenstein. 
> 
> In this story, yes I have made Matthew as the older brother so Alfred is four years younger (27) than Arthur (31). 
> 
> Oh! For those who were able to guess who Emil's (Iceland) companion was, you are a star! A hint for those who don't: he is Iceland's closest pal. Who is very fabulous.


End file.
